Sugar Cookies and Memories
by White Silver and Mercury
Summary: There's a house back in a small town...it's on a hill, and the road is surrounded by a dilapidated rock wall. That's the place that Edward Elric calls home. - - Ed/Winry drabble collection.
1. Sugar Cookies

**SUGAR COOKIES AND MEMORIES**

**A Collection of Drabbles**

**Disclaimers: I…do not…own Fullmetal…nor any sugar cookies, goddammit…**

**A/N: Yes, eheheh. A collection of drabbles. Don't I have one already, you ask? Well, hah, this is EdoxWinrii. That's ALL. **

**Dedication: Er…to _my _Winrii. xD Hell, that sounds so sappy…**

--

_Sugar Cookies_

--

The steps were going to make his rear end numb. Ed fidgeted somewhat, cocking his head to one side. The steps were _sooo_ hard. Wooden, making his tailbone stiff. And every time he fidgeted and squirmed like that, a sharp pain shot up his leg, up his arm, collecting all at once near his collarbone and zipping down his spine, causing a grimace to find it's way across his face.

But a grimace was fine. He'd allow himself that. After all, he was alone outside. No one would see him if he happened to let a little hint of annoying, repetitive pain slip past his gruff, ache-less exterior.

Finally finding a comfortable position—in other words, the typical, cat-like Edo sprawl, with his back against the top step, his arms folded behind his head, resting atop the said first step, his rear resting on the middle step, and his legs bent, propped on the last step: the perfect disposition of nonchalance—Ed let a wide yawn stretch across his face, stifling it after a moment by snapping his mouth shut. He'd admit he was tired, but that's because he'd stuffed himself at dinner. And, honestly, it was the best shrimp he'd _ever _tasted. He was sure of it.

Peering out across the front yard, towards the river, where the sun was setting in such a way that even Ed—who, mind you, didn't care about anyone or anything—had to admit that it was breathtaking, a few strands of blonde hair fell across his face, tickling his nose. In fact, it tickled it to the point that his nose gave a little twitch, and he sniffled slightly.

A giggle erupted behind him, causing the boy to jump so suddenly that he almost fell off the steps. Recognizing the giggle immediately, Ed tilted his head back, resting it against the top step as he grinned at the—now upside down—girl who stood behind him.

"Hey, Win…"

Winry giggled again, and sat down beside him on the top step carelessly, her long ponytail falling over her right shoulder. Blinking a few times, she looked to her hands—Ed's gaze following hers—before she grinned, and held her hands out to him. In them were two sugar cookies, freshly baked.

"I told you Auntie was gonna make some," she chirped, and Ed rolled into a grin, reaching out with his left hand, fingers curling around both cookies.

"Thanks, Win, I—"

"Only one, you stupid pig!" Winry squealed, grabbing one cookie back and pouting faintly. Ed stared, frozen, his lips still parted somewhat from his thank-you, having been cut off by the abrupt name he'd been called.

After a moment of watching Winry eat silently her cookie, he huffed a breath through his nose, glaring as he sank his teeth into the sugar cookie defiantly. There was that pain again, up into his shoulder, and he focused on chewing the treat. Pausing before he swallowed, Ed turned his head sharply, settling his narrowed eyes on Winry's once-again-smiling face. The sapphire orbs, behind the angelically blonde bangs, seemed to have found their way to the sunset, and were taking it in eagerly. With his tongue, Ed shifted the chewed contents in his mouth to the opposite side, and inquired slowly, "Did you help her?" An almost reluctant gaze fell on him, and Winry's brows rose as if she knew what he was getting at. Which she probably did.

"Hnm?" she grunted girlishly, fingering her half-eaten sugar cookie. "No, I didn't, why?"

Ed exhaled heavily as he looked away, as if he had held his breath. Winry's expression slowly shifted to a doubtful, annoyed look as she watched Ed nod in approval, then casually go back to eating his cookie. There was a small silence as Winry slowly leaned down so her face was right next to Ed's. Inclining one slender brow, her voice smooth, with a slightly disdainful tone in it, she murmured, "Oh, Ed…"

The boy grunted, not looking towards her, and started to lick crumbs off his left fingertips. His right arm fell limply to his lap, and, beside his golden head, Winry smiled sweetly.

"If you're wondering if I told Auntie to put milk in the cookies, I'm _appalled _that you think of me as such a fox. But if you think I poisoned them, well that's staying my little secret…"

Slowly, wide golden eyes shifted to fall on a bright, blue-eyed smile. A giggle sounded as the amber optics narrowed into another glare, and Winry tossed a few long pieces of hair back over her shoulder. Ed snorted, and turned his face away. Satisfied at the silence settling over them which obviously announced her victory, Winry straightened up again and set her cookie down on her skirted lap, leaning forward to rest her elbows on her thighs, her chin thus in her palms, smiling as she stared off at the sunset again.

The stars were making their proverbial hike into the purpling twilight, and by the time the sun had nearly ducked out of sight, both of the blonde youths were slapping and scratching at mosquito bites, one with a tiny ponytail—that was so tiny it almost spiked off his head—sprawled on his back on the steps to the Rockbell porch, staring up at the sky, bored as could be; the other in a pink floral dress slumped forward, examining her toenails, wiggling her toes over the edge of the step.

A frog was croaking somewhere as Ed coughed, then broke the silence. "Where's Al?"

Frowning, Winry raised her head and looked to him, but he still avoided her gaze by scowling at the night sky. After a pause, glancing to the ground, she sighed, and flicked her gaze back up to him. "Before dinner he disappeared; I thought you knew. You're his brother, after all."

She received a snort in return.

There was another long pause, before Winry finally asked a question that made Ed sit up abruptly.

"Ed…are you queer?"

"Do _what_?" the boy cried, sitting up straight and staring at her with the strangest look on his face: a combination of almost shock and amusement.

"Are you…you know…gay?"

The only noise for a moment was that same frog, croaking away, and water running somewhere in the Rockbell house, before Ed doubled up and erupted into laughter. Blinking, startled, Winry blushed in embarrassment at what she had asked him, and crossed her arms, wailing, "Don't laugh at my question, you egotistical butt-face!"

The girl's simple amalgamation of such a high-class word as "egotistical" and the common insult "butt-face" made Ed laugh even harder, and he had to grab onto the steps to keep himself from falling off them.

"Stop it!" Winry squealed, narrowing her eyes. "I was just asking, because a lot of people are confused about their sexuality at this age, and you're growing your hair out and wearing it in that tiny ponytail of yours, and I thought to myself, 'Only gay guys would do that', and I want to be someone you can _talk _to, and—" The girl broke off into a frustrated growl, but it came out high-pitched, so she gave her legs a little flail to emphasize her embarrassment.

Finally calming down a bit, taking a slow breath, but still grinning like crazy, Ed blurted, "Don't worry, Win, I'm straight, I promise…!" and burst into laughter again.

"Oh yeah?" she piped. "Prove it!"

"Fine, fine!" Ed managed, and, shaking with silenced hysteria, he leaned over, and landed a quick kiss on Winry's cheek. Grinning, he scooted over to sit beside her, and said, "And there we are. Edo is straight as a ruler."

Blushing faintly, completely caught off guard, Winry blinked a few times, and nodded. Her glare fading, she glanced up to Ed, then away, and shifted her position so her shoulder touched his. Smiling at him, she promptly went back to inspecting her bare feet, though the only light now was the stars, and the lamp in the kitchen that flashed its rays out the window and into the dark yard.

"Y'know," Ed muttered, still grinning, slouched with Winry, arm-to-arm, looking at the ground, "that was just like if…I like…asked you all randomly…'Hey, Win, do you like girls?'…"

Winry couldn't help but giggle loudly. The blonde boy smirked, proudly, having known that he could get that cute laugh out of her by simply stating what he had. Pausing in his own snickering, he elbowed her softly, and added, "Hey, can I have the rest of your sugar cookie?"

That got him no where but off the stairs and in the dirt.

**OWARI.**

**A/N: I'd like to thank cough medicine for the complete oddness of this. xD Thank you dear lord, whoever, whatever, wherever the hell you are, for giving me the Tylenol so that I could produce this mirror image of my girlfriend so everyone can see what I go through… -snicker.- I mean. Wait. She's gonna read this. SOMEONE CALL THE POLICE. –glances to the side, then grins.- **


	2. The Graveyard Solicitor

**SUGAR COOKIES AND MEMORIES**

**A Collection of Drabbles**

**Disclaimers: I don't own Fullmetal.**

**A/N: -glance.- I really should be taking a shower and doing my schoolwork stuff instead of editing the typos in this, but.. –snort.- can't help it. xD **

--

_The Graveyard Solicitor _

--

The morning was quiet. The clock's ticking seemed to be muted, and not even the birds appeared to be chirping. It was an unusual silence, one that snuck up on a person and strangled them to the point of shrieking, just to produce a sound. It was a silence that could make someone go crazy, the kind that squeezed out all the bad things in life like a sponge. Loneliness came with such a hush, as well as other emotions that austerely weighed a person down.

Edward simply couldn't take it anymore. He had spent most of the morning hours so far on the sofa, wasting away two or three hours just sitting. Had he fallen asleep? He didn't know. He didn't think he had. He could barely lift his limbs and the sensation of feeling so weak had all but stapled him to the couch.

His golden eyes lifted to the clock, and he drew in a slow breath through gently parted lips. Silver fingers curled delicately, and a cough escaped his lips into his metal knuckles as he stood up. The living room fell deathly still as the only thing that had been moving—whether or not Ed even _had _been moving or not—lumbered towards the door.

Tugging his shoes on, Edward tapped his heels against the floor in a childish manner to make sure they were on all the way. He snatched his red coat with a flourish, and was out of the house and off the porch before the door had even slammed behind him.

The sun was mocking him. It was like he was some photophobic creature who was up way past the time he should have found a rock to crawl under, the sun a menace that he couldn't rid of. Squinting somewhat, Edward scowled. It was only seven o'clock in the morning. He honestly wanted to be in bed, curled up with the warm blankets, but here he was, outside in the rising sun, marching off down the road with a chilly breeze brushing hair off his face.

--

The blankets were warm and her face was glued to her pillow. A few strands of silky blonde hair fell across her skin, and it took her a few tries to pry her eyes open. Even when they did open, the blue gaze was half-lidded, and her room darkened by the curtains to the point of the coat draped on the chair transforming into a crouching figure.

Sighing softly, Winry dragged herself up to a sitting position—or, rather, a _half_ sitting position. One arm bent, she propped herself up by pressing her forearm to the mattress, her other arm draped across her blanket-covered hip. Swinging her legs out of bed, the girl froze. There was something eerie this morning; something wrong. There was no shuffling about down the hall, nor any noise downstairs.

Hastily, Winry stood up, suddenly feeling fully awake. Never, she thought to herself, had she ever gotten out of bed so quickly. If it were any other daybreak, she probably would have giggled at the thought, but there was something different about this morning.

Pattering down the stairs, Winry sincerely hoped she would see Ed, slumped at the kitchen table, with either a small piece of food or one of the seemingly _thousands _of books he'd arrived with. "Damned alchemy porno," she had whispered when she saw the piles of texts he'd lugged into the house. Perking up, he had questioned what she'd muttered, and all she had done was giggle.

But when she tiptoed into the kitchen, it was completely empty. There wasn't even a crumb on the counter. Winry stood in the threshold, her hands behind her back, as a frown graced her lips. Standing there in the doorway to a quiet, desolate kitchen, she tried to think up the many places Ed could have disappeared too. And what if he was just in bed?

It was just such an obvious spot for him to be in, it made her feel stupid. Look in the harder spots, and he'll be right under your nose.

Turning quickly, Winry dashed back up the stairs as soundlessly as she could make it. Swinging the door to the spare bedroom open, the smile that had formed so immediately on her face disappeared as her eyes took in the room before her.

There was no one.

Leaning against the door, she released a heavy breath through parted lips. There was no one in the room, except for the suit of armor that was supposedly "sleeping" in the corner. And Winry was glad. That way Alphonse, in his unconscious state, would not be able to see the rash disappointment that spread from her face to the tips of her toes.

Ed and Al had arrived the day before. Miraculously, the only thing that was missing screw seemed to be the oldest Elric's head. Alphonse had been holding the suitcase that normally never really left Ed's hands, and Edward's arms were full of books that looked so old you could poke their spine and they'd collapse into a pile of manuscripts. He had marched right into the house with his trademark toothy grin, followed by a babbling Alphonse, brushing right past Winry and Pinako as if they didn't even exist.

Ed had laughed, as he set all the books onto the table. There were fifteen. Winry had counted. Now that she thought about it, the collection that Edward had lugged along with him was still stacked on the table. Apparently he had stumbled upon a library on his trek back to the Rockbell home.

Sighing, Winry turned around and, once again, trudged down the stairs. She froze, though, as she passed the front window, her blue eyes catching on a bright red coat that was fluttering in the wind as the owner of it walked down the road.

--

Edward's left hand was numb from the stinging chill of the air around him. How the sun could seem so warm and inviting, when the earth was completely icy, was beyond fathoming distance for the blonde boy at the moment. It was as if the ground was preparing for winter, and the sky for the opposite season—and warmth.

He shoved his left hand into his pocket. It didn't help much. The denim jeans he had thrown on when he'd awakened this morning were thinning out. He had all the money he needed to get new ones, but he always seemed too busy to really stop by a department store. Besides, the last time he had been out shopping was when he and his brother had taken Winry through Rush Valley.

A small laugh emitted from Edward's throat at the memories from that town. His brows furrowing softly, he patted his right hip, where the chain from his pocket watch was swaying slightly in the zephyr. A few stray strands of hair that had come loose of his braid blew across his face and tickled his cheek. Brushing them behind his ear, he let his right fingers linger near his face. His skin prickled with a new tickling sensation, this time because the touch of his right hand was cool and hard, not soft and warm like that of his left hand.

Edward sighed through his nose, closing his eyes for a moment. By the time he opened them, he had dropped his hand once again to his side, and his gaze had dulled from the way it had lit up when he laughed. He was approaching the graveyard, and he didn't feel like laughing anymore.

--

Worry tugged at Winry's expression, as well as her disposition, as she hurried off down the dirt road. Her eyes were glued on the red coat and the blonde hair that was slowing down in its trudging. Her sandals made _thunk_ing noises against the dirt, and her hands were shoved into the pockets of her coat. The long locks of hair she had left brushing to her waist; she hadn't even brushed it, but that was okay. No one was out at this hour yet. Or, rather, not many were out yet.

Winry paused, her soft face rolling into another concerned frown as she saw the male further along the road stop completely in his tracks, hunching forward and coughing relatively hard.

It bothered Winry to the core. Edward and Alphonse making the long trip all the way back to Risembool, for no apparent reason connected to the automail, just didn't seem…normal.

Winry sighed softly, and continued watching from a distance as Edward started to walk again. He trudged through the decrepit stone wall and disappeared into the graveyard before the blonde girl resumed following. It was strange, she thought to herself, how the brothers had came back last night, and acted so blasé. They had settled in like they weren't leaving ever again—though the suitcase Alphonse had been carrying had stayed packed—and Ed had eaten more like a pig than he ever had.

But as the previous evening wore on, Winry had noticed changes here and there. Edward had been coughing every now and then, taking slow breaths, falling silent randomly. The only thing she could think of that explained his actions was illness; after all, she had been ill a few weeks prior.

Alphonse had even mentioned to her that Edward had been acting odd. That's what scared her. "He's been sleeping a lot lately," Al had told her once. "He seems different. I don't know why."

Winry stopped as she neared the entry to the graveyard. The one thing that really bothered her was the fact that nothing was broken.

--

A pair of shoes stopped moving in front of a gravestone—a rather well-kept gravestone, with a few flowers sprouting, as well as some weeds. Two knees hit the grass, still wet from the night's moisture, and a blonde head hung dismally. Before Edward knew it, words had escaped his mouth. "Look, Mom," he had blurted, "I just came to say hi."

Completely embarrassed now by the way he had been talking to a grave, even if it was merely an explanation as to why he was there, Ed snapped his mouth shut, and all but glared at the granite before him. His eyes ran over the engraving until his gaze softened; more or less, it saddened as well.

Taking a slow breath, he sighed heavily, his body sagging with the release of air. A small smile formed on his lips as he focused on the plants that were popping up here and there around the grave. "I don't know," he added, "why I'm gonna do this, Mom, but…I need to talk. That's all." As if his mind wanted to spite his own words, Edward cut off into a grimace, almost choking on his breath. The air outside really was cold. Maybe he should just go back to the house.

He didn't want to talk. He never did. But something kept him sitting there, as the minutes wore on, in front of his mother's grave. The boy was talking rapidly in his mind, as if the stone before him were listening as intently as a person. But it wasn't a person, and he supposed that was why he could talk to it so well. Or…_think _to it, really.

Unlike a person, the gravestone would listen, without arguing, without questioning, without staring. It merely sat there, patiently, offering silence as the answer that fit for any statement. After a moment, Edward grunted, and spoke in a mumble, the grass seeming more interesting now than the stone.

"I didn't want anyone at Central to force me to the doctor's, so I came here, because I knew that if I came here, Winry would yell at me, and that would be it. No worrying about my cough. After all, Mom, it's nothing. Just a cold. I even found a really nice library at one of the towns the train stopped at along the way. Lots of neat books…I think you'd like one of them, actually. So I got it. I'm not going to read it, though." He shut his mouth again. There he was, babbling to…what? Blades of grass. Not the gravestone. Not his mother. To himself, to the ground.

The wind tossed his braid over his shoulder, and Edward blinked a few times, glancing over to it. A smile crossed his face faintly once more, and he reached up, brushing his braid back towards his spine.

"Just thought I'd visit you," he added gradually in a whisper, and fell still again.

--

Winry lingered by the entrance to the graveyard, her blonde tresses dancing gently in the breeze. Her slender brows furrowed delicately, she shivered as the chill of the wind hit her bare legs and caused her coat and nightgown to flutter slightly.

A small smile passed through her eyes as she glanced down to her feet. Wiggling her toes, the smile shifted to her mouth. She hadn't even gotten fully dressed before she ran after Ed. There she was, in the sleeveless, cotton nightgown that only fell to her mid-thighs, along with her peach-colored sandals, standing in a graveyard, when she should be eating breakfast. The red coat she had pulled on was white and soft on the inside, a coarser material on the outside. The buttons were black, and Winry's smile grew larger as she remembered why she liked it so much.

Edward had bought it for her, and when he had, she'd simply sat there and buried her nose in the soft inside of the hood. He had laughed at her, and walked off to the other side of the store, leaving her to nuzzle to the coat.

Her blue eyes caught the flash of another red coat as the owner of it moved somewhat, falling to sit beside a certain grave. The girl fell silent, leaning forward just a bit as she strained to catch Edward's words. She could hear the gruff mumble, but the words she couldn't make out; it was that frustrating feeling of half knowledge that she never liked to experience.

Shuffling her feet, Winry tossed her head to one side, to get the hair out of it. Her bangs were getting longer, and were constantly in her eyes now; she reached up and brushed the blonde locks to the left of her face with her fingertips. Her fingernail grazed her forehead, and she gasped somewhat, squeaking as she rubbed at her skin.

Looking to her finger, she pouted gently. No blood; she hadn't scratched herself. Dropping her hand, she lifted her face to look back to the grave where Edward was kneeling, but froze, her eyes widening, as they met with another very humiliated, very startled pair of golden ones.

--

Edward felt a heat to his cheeks as he realized that the girl had been watching him this whole time, had been _listening _to him this whole time. Turning forward again, he let his expression fall to the look that often crossed his face, a temperament of casual boredom, and almost sore repose. Slowly, he stood up, as if it were such an effort that it made him ache all over, and propped his hands on his hips, turning halfway to glance at Winry sidelong.

"Hey," he grunted, lifting one hand for a sheepish wave.

--

Winry blinked a few times, and waved her hand in turn, her face going blank, save for a vexed look that shot through the back of her eyes. Smiling faintly, she started to walk forward, to join Edward near the grave, but he held his hand up again, this time as a signal for her to stop.

"I'm fine," he said quickly, and shuffled towards her, offering her a small smile as his hands found their way back into his front pockets. Brushing past her, he strode out of the graveyard, but paused in mid-step as Winry spoke.

"I didn't hear you," she reassured succinctly, her voice rising in volume. "I mean, I _did_, but I couldn't make out your words."

Edward glanced over his shoulder, and his head bobbed slightly in acknowledgement of her statement. His feet began moving again, and Winry frowned, hurrying after him. She fell into line, just a few steps behind him, and her hands found their way back to her coat's pockets.

After a moment of silence, her lips parted, but she was cut off mid-breath as Ed laughed. "You're crazy," he said after his chortle dissipated.

Winry blinked a few times, and then narrowed her eyes in a rather immature fashion. "What? Where did _that _come from?" she cried. Edward's gaze shifted back towards her, and a grin tugged at his lips. He had successfully gotten her mind on something other than the graveyard, and he was going to keep it up.

"You're outside in…_nothing_, and its cold out here, Winry," he explained, his grin broadening. Looking forward again, he ignored the color he noticed starting across her cheeks rapidly. Winry's childish glare sharpened as she felt the heat on her cheeks, and she turned her head away, huffing a breath, as silence settled over the two again. The silence seemed to almost settle on everything after that; even Winry's sandals seemed to have muted their annoying _thunk_ing noises.

Winry's eyes slowly found their way to the back of Edward's head, and she came to the indiscriminate conclusion that he must have slept with his hair still in a braid, as it was completely haphazard and a multitude of strands had come loose. Either that or the breeze was stronger than it felt.

After a moment, she inhaled softly, and murmured, "I'm kind of worried, you know." Edward's shoulders became rigid, but he kept walking. Finally, he sighed heavily, and shrugged limply.

"Why? Don't be," he grunted, falling into the tough guy mode again. Winry frowned gently, and glanced away.

"I always worry," she whispered under her breath, and stumbled slightly over her own two feet as Edward cut off short. She hadn't meant for him to hear her, but apparently he had quite the hearing. "I mean, I…it's all I do. No, what I mean is that I can't _help _but worry, I—ah, damn…"

Edward turned to face her, and she almost cringed at the irate look crossing through his face. "I don't want you to worry," he commented, his voice firm. She nodded quickly, but he went on. "There's nothing wrong, and it just wastes people's emotions to worry."

The blonde girl tensed up, and abruptly became over protective, leaning forward angrily. "Well, geez, I'm sorry Mr. Tough Guy! Not like _you _don't worry sometimes, right?"

Ed watched her for a moment, and then turned away, his back facing her as he began to walk again. "I don't," he mumbled, and Winry hurried after him.

"Yeah, right! Everyone worries once in a while…you gotta admit that…I mean, c'mon, why else would you come to a graveyard randomly?"  
"I have my reasons," Edward spat back dryly.

Winry fell silent, simply glaring at the eldest Elric's back. It hit her that she had clenched her fists inside her pockets, and was walking quite hastily now, just inches from Ed's spine. Her thoughts processed completely after a moment, and she sighed exasperatedly, slowing her steps down.

"I'm going to worry, and you can't stop me," she muttered, her glare shifting into a determined stare. Edward's shoulders rolled in a slight shrug. "And," she added quickly, before he could comment in any slapdash way, "I want to have you looked at by a doctor. Or at least…I'll make you something hot to eat."

The blonde boy laughed, catching Winry off guard. Blinking, she looked up, and realized that they were approaching her house rather quickly. "What's so funny?" she demanded, her voice rising in volume again.

Edward shook his head, and slowed his steps so that they could walk side by side. Winry sighed irately, and hunched her shoulders up. Ed glanced towards her, and then stopped. Just as he had expected her to, she stopped in turn, and looked over his face.

"What?" she inquired slowly, but he simply shook his head, and started to walk again.

"Nothing."

"Wait a minute."

Edward looked back over his shoulder, raising his brows. His expression went blank, though, as his eyes caught onto the look on Winry's face. She was focusing on the ground, her disposition seeming a bit distant unexpectedly. It was his turn to question as to what she wanted, and she shrugged limply, before she spoke with a somewhat coy voice.

"I just want you to…um…be able to talk to me…you know." Winry paused, and lifted her head, smiling almost sadly at the boy before her. "I guess it scared me, the way you and Al just came back, and nothing was wrong, other than the fact that you're acting a little odd. But like I said…I want you to be able to talk to me." Her teeth grazed her lower lip as she pondered whether or not to bite it—deciding against it—her eyes settled on him. Somehow she felt as though she were letting him down, explaining all that to him suddenly. Of course, if he had wanted to say something that even barely resembled her confession, she knew that he wouldn't even hint towards it.

Edward was silent, his eyes finding the ground. Immediately a pang of culpability came over Winry, and she hurried forward, walking past him and closer to the house. Sighing faintly, the boy turned and followed her at a slower pace. His eyes caught onto her bare legs as she made the ascent to the Rockbell porch, and a smile flicked across his face.

"I got a book," he said, clumping up the steps, "that I think you might like…I'm not gonna read it, but I thought you might want to."

Winry glanced towards him as she tugged the door open, and a smile crossed her face at the sight of his lips curled upwards. "Yeah," she murmured, holding the door open for him as she stepped inside, kicking her sandals off near the threshold. "But you're probably leaving soon, and then I won't get to read a lot of it…and besides, what will you do while I read it?"

Edward shrugged, waving his hand dismissively at the comment towards library fines. Shutting the door behind him, he rolled his shoulders backwards, his coat sliding off his back and into his hands. "What will I do? I'll probably just go back to the graveyard." His answer was succinct as he flung his coat to the chair beside the door, and flashed a smile in her direction.

**OWARI.**


	3. Dreams

**SUGAR COOKIES AND MEMORIES**

**A Collection of Drabbles**

**Disclaimers: I do NOT OWN FMA.**

**A/N: I, uh…this is weird, after reading _MachineJunkie_'s fic (YOU WILL READ HER STORIES, DAMMIT.) _Breakfast for Two_, I remembered this, and how on Monday…heh, at school, I wasn't feelin' too good, and I had NO ATTENTION SPAN WHATSOEVER, so I dropped all my work and just…wrote. –grins slightly, shrugging.- Edo's POV.**

--

_Dreams_

--

She had just been sitting there, for the longest time, on the swings. When we were little, my brother and I would tease her, by pushing her on the swings as high as we could, then running off and leaving her stranded, squealing, suspended in the air, as her legs had been too tiny to drag on the ground just yet.

Her head was hung, as if the pebbles beneath her feet were more interesting than the swing she was lounging on. The sun, its rays filtered through the leafy top of the tree I leaned against, hit her hair at such an angle that it shone. The swing made noises as if it were senile, and wanted to stop moving. _Squeeeeak, squeeeeak, squeeeeak_.

My eyes caught onto the empty swing beside her, and my lips quirked into a tiny smile. Stepping out of the shadow of the trees, I strode onto the playground from our past, my shoes making crunching noises on the pebbles. One hand shoved in my pocket, I reached out and took hold of the rope that poised the swing above the ground with my free one.

"Hey, Winrii," I said, rolling into my trademark grin as I plopped down onto the swing. She glanced up at me, and I could see her eyes light up, though she only let a small smile form expression-wise. Nothing big. Nothing that made it seem like she was happy to see me there.

"Hey," she murmured, then looked forward again. It was cold out, I thought as my gaze flicked up and down her body: her black boots, black stockings, the plaid skirt, brown coat, and white scarf that she was wearing. She caught my stare and I blushed and turned away.

"So, why are you out here alone?" I mumbled after a moment. From the corner of my eye I saw her shrug.

"It got boring at the house."

After that statement, our conversation turned to the creaking of swings as we swung, what we hated, and how boring days could get; all in all it was very uneventful chatter. It was when I started to explain what Al and I did for amusement when days got boring at Central that she dug her heels into the pebbles beneath her feet, halting the swing.

I blinked a few times, and glanced over at her. "What's wrong?" I inquired, a brow raising as I slowed my own pace.

"Ed," she said clearly, shifting her eyes over to me, "when will you just come home?"

I tensed up slightly, remorse spreading into my gaze. "But I am home," I insisted. "This is Resembool…I'm home."

"No," she spat, her brows furrowing. "I mean, when will you come home so I can stop waiting?"

Slowly, my face twisted into a frown. Watching her carefully, I mumbled, "I'm gonna be home soon. For good. No more visits. Just as soon as I can get everything back to normal." I knew she wouldn't understand, so I snapped my mouth shut and turned away. An edgy silence settled over the park and I shivered. It really was cold out there.

Gradually, she stood up, and, watching the ground, she brushed her skirt off, and turned to me. I eyed her sidelong, by now sitting motionless on the swing. It surprised me when she plopped down into my lap. I grunted, another blush forming on my already red face, which really made me angry. Frowning in a juvenile manner, I leaned away from her.

"I'm glad you're home," she whispered, smiling over her shoulder at me. I couldn't tell if her smile was forced or not, which turned my frown into a childishly perplexed grimace.

"For now," I grumbled to correct her. She sighed.

I couldn't help it. I wrapped my arms about her waist and pulled myself closer, resting my chin on her shoulder. Ignoring the tinge of red I caught on her face, as that would have been a good chance to taunt her, I closed my eyes and allowed a small smile to cross my face. I felt her settle against me, and I could swear I heard a whisper of, "I love you"; whose mouth it slipped from, mine or hers, I'm not sure.

--

I hate the feeling of waking up to find that a dream you wanted to last forever had been extinguished, the flame dying, suffocated by reality. It always left me hopeless, staring at the ceiling, fighting the urge to cry—though that rarely ever reared its damned head anymore.

So that's what I did. I lay in bed, glaring at the ceiling, hastily pulling the blankets up over my head, as if to shield myself from the disappointment that was as sharp as my gaze.

After a moment I couldn't take it. Flinging my blankets off of me, I swung out of bed and grabbed my coat. I wouldn't bother to call, nor let anyone know I was leaving. My brother wasn't stupid; he'd decipher this mess when he awoke.

Sometimes dreaming is the only thing you can do, but I wouldn't accept that this time. Relief flooded over me as I read the train schedule, a blustery wind clawing at my coat. The ticket was expensive, but I always had the money. I lacked clothes of normalcy, but, again, I had the money. Nothing mattered at the moment. This time, going home would not be a dream.

**OWARI.**

**A/N: Eheheh…**


	4. I Hate You

**SUGAR COOKIES AND MEMORIES**

**A Collection of Drabbles**

**Disclaimers: I don't own FMA.**

**A/N: xD A conversation between—omfg guess who—Edo and Winrii! O**

--

_I Hate You_

--

"You know something?"  
"What?"

"I hate you. So much."

"Oh, hahah! Whatever."  
"Gah! See? That's what I hate! I hate your 'whatever's!"

"Oh, really. _Whatever_."

"Grrr!"

"Sheesh, calm down. I'm just teasing you. Hell…"

"You are _so_…_so_…damn, I don't _know_ what you are!"

"Hahah! You know what I hate about you?"

"Oh? You hate me? What do you hate about me?"  
"I hate your giggle."

"…Yeah right! You said you loved my giggle!"

"I was lying."

"…Yeah, well…I hate you and your stupid alchemy porno!"

"It's _not _porno!"

"Don't argue with me. You know I'm right."

"Goddammit!"

"Don't get angry now."

"Agh! You! I swear—"

"Hahah! I know. You hate me. Guess what?"  
"_What_?"  
"I hate you too."

"Whatever."  
"There you go _again_!"

"Hah!"

"Damn…"

"You know what else I hate about you?"  
"What?"

"Your big fat butt."

"…_What_?"

"You heard me. And your fat ugly head."

"You better take that back _right now_!"

"And your—G'OW! Hey!"

"That's right you'd better hold your head…I warned you!"

"…Fuck."

"Fuck what?"

"That _hurt_!"

"You wanna fuck me."

"Where the _hell _did you get _that _conclusion?"

"You…hahah! Don't look at me like that!"

"Oh my god…"

"What?"

"You."

"Admit you want me!"

"Why would I want an anorexic mechanic?"

"I am not anorexic!"

"Looks like it."

"Damn you and your nonchalant insults to hell, you big jerk!"

"…Eh?"

"You're not even listening are you?"

"No."

"Agh!"

"You have somethin' else you want to put on your 'I Hate Edo For This' list?"

"Yes!"

"Go on. Heheh."

"Don't you _grin _at me like that! Geez! I hate the way you're so damn casual with _everything_!"

"Oh?"

"Yes! And I hate—"

"Hey, hey, it's my turn."

"Whatever!"

"Pfft! Don't start usin' that against the master of words!"

"Oh-ho-ho, you're the master of words, eh?"  
"Just shut up and let me tell you what I hate about you."

"Sounds so _fun_."

"Shh!"

"…"

"Okay. So. Let's start with the head."

"_What_?"  
"I think when I go to sleep, okay?"  
"You _thought _about this?"

"No. I'm _kidding_, bimbo."

"I. Hate. You."

"I've heard. Now…your eyes."

"Don't even start!"

"I hate the way you cry so easily."

"…Well, I…hey…that's…that's not fair!"

"And your hair. I hate the way it's so soft."

"You…what? Oh, whatever! You know you love it."

"And your lips. I hate the way you scream…and tell me all these things like…'Oh I can't help but worry' or 'I cry because you and Aru don't'."

"…My turn. I earned a turn."

"Whatever."

"Dammit! Just…gah. Fine. I'll start with _your_ head, too."

"'Cause I'm the master of words."

"Shut up!"

"Sorry."

"Stop laughing at me!"  
"Okay, okay! Calm down!"

"Gah! You! Anyway…! Your hair: I hate the way that it _always _seems to fall across your eyes; your eyes: I hate how they _always_ have to be showing a different emotion. It's confusing! And your _mouth_: I hate that you're such a big fatheaded pig who can't say anything nice, and won't tell anyone how he really feels, and—"

"…Do you know how hypocritical that sounds?"

"Shut up!"

"But it's my turn again…"

"…Dammit!"

"Hahah! Ah…okay. Your skin. I hate how it's so pale and…silky."

"…What's wrong?"  
"What are you talking about?"  
"Hey, don't turn your face away from me—I just told you I hated that!"

"No, you didn't. Not like I'd listen anyway."

"Oh, just shut up…what's wrong?"  
"Nothing. Let me go on."

"No way! Don't start with the 'nothing's now, too!"

"Okay…you. I hate you. And your stupid obsession with tools. And how you wield that wrench so fucking easily. Hell, y'know how much that thing _hurts_?"

"…You're blushing!"

"_What_? No I'm not!"

"Hahah! You are too!"

"No I'm _not_!"

"That's why you turned away!"

"I hate you! I hate the way you cook and the way you talk and the way you sleep and the way you're always so giggly and smiley and all that shit!"

"No you don't."

"Yes I do!"

"…Stop lying and hug me."

"…"

"C'mon."

"…Whatever."

"Hahah. Yup. Whatever. Just remember that while you said that, you hugged me. Hah! Don't snort at me, mister; you know I'm right. Hey, hey, hey: look at me…not the ground. You gotta admit I'm prettier than the ground."

"Yeah, hah! Not much though."

"Jerk!"

"Be quiet."

"I'm never quiet."

"Damn, that _giggle_."

"Y'know, I read somewhere that 'hate' means 'love'."

"What are you getting at?"  
"You love me. You know you do."

"…Sure, why not."  
"Hey!"  
"Ow!"

"That's right, 'ow'."

"Get your nose off my neck."

"No. I like it here."

"I hate women."

"I love you…"

"…Whatever."

"Wait for it. Wait for it…"

"Well, now I ain't saying it!"

"Hahah! Whatever!"

"Agh, stop using my word!"  
"I thought you were the master?"

'"I love you, too."

"…H-hey…hey!"

"Hahah! Caught you off guard!"

"I hate you!"

"Pfft. Hate you, too; you and your damned giggling."

**OWARI.**


	5. Birthday Surprise

**:Birthday Surprise:**

**Disclaimers: I do not own FMA. Though I do own myself? And that's basically owning Edo. –cough.- ..Okay, no one gets it but Britt. ee;**

**A/N: This was written as a birthday present for my very own Win – Brittany. ♥ Happy birthday, seeing as..I can't get you that white rose hair clip I wanted to get you. **

**Additionals: Basically just a random drabble?**

--

The dormitory room was chilly. Stubbornly, Edward refused his brother's demands to cover up, and simply slumped in the chair in the corner of the room, staring at the wall opposite him with a moody, blank look in his amber optics. The snowstorm had blown a generator outside Central, and because of such there was no electricity in the southern side of the building – thusly, no heat and no light for the dorms.

"Brother…" Alphonse murmured metallically, his voice reverberating a frown. "Why don't you go to the library? The electricity is on there."

"No."

Alphonse recoiled gently. Glancing to the side with a sharp hiss of creaking metal, his chain mail clinking delicately, the younger of the two brothers sighed. "At the least, cover up, Edward."

The blonde stretched his legs out, sending a scathing glance up and down his petite frame: socks, denim jeans, and a black and red zip-up sweatshirt he had thrown on over his white turtle-neck. His hair was free from its confining ponytail, and fell about his shoulders loose; he was continuously jutting out his lower lip and huffing out a large breath, or tossing his head to one side, to rid his gaze of honeysuckle strands. The almond-shaped, golden hues were narrowed and settled upon his clothed feet, his dark lashes hiding the sharpness of his gaze from his brother.

"I'm fine."

"Why don't you go get some coffee or something? It's hot. I don't want you getting sick, brother! It's freezing in here, I can tell."

Considering this a moment, Edward finally dragged himself from within the chair. Coffee was the one thing that drew him out of bed, and kept him going all day. It was his savior. "Okay. But then I'm coming right back."

Alphonse emitted a tinny chuckle as his diminutive brother disappeared through the dormitory threshold. Upon hearing the door click shut, he assumed his brother would not return without a book and a fifth cup of coffee.

Trailing off down the hallway, Edward gritted his teeth against shivers that clawed their way down his spine. It was the middle of winter, and this day happened to be an especially cold one. Pausing in front of the window, the male leaned to the side and peered out into the snow, his hands in his pockets, wondering briefly if it was this cold in Risembool.

"Ah!" he breathed abruptly, his eyes widening some. Back in Risembool it was definitely snowing. And Winry was definitely sitting in front of her window again, staring outside and waiting to see if they were returning this year or not.

Damn, how he longed to simply be back in his hometown for the holidays; how he wanted to be back in her arms, in the warm bed, holding her close. Just like the last time, their hands would be laced and all their worries would be gone. They would wake up at lunchtime and sit at the table and drink coffee, and when Alphonse or Pinako would walk by, they'd jerk themselves away from each other and laugh and smile and say, "Good morning."

Edward found himself smiling sadly, staring at the snow as he remembered. Today was her birthday. She was seventeen years old now. At this very moment, he wondered if she was crying because they weren't there. He really hoped she wasn't.

And then it hit him: there was one way that he could find out.

The colonel was bundled up in coats and scarves when Edward burst through the broad doors and into his office. Raising a brow in the most uninterested fashion imaginable, he waited for the explosion of breath and voice he always received at instances like these.

"Phone! Phone, Mustang, can I use your phone?" Edward panted, his optics wide and wild with motions. Slumped against the door, he attempted to give the older male the most pathetic look he could manage.

"It's a little chilly, Fullmetal. You have a good strategy for keeping warm, running around like this."

"Roy! Can I please use your phone…?"

"It's tracked. Would you like some coffee?"

"No, I – um, yeah, coffee sounds good. I don't care if it's tracked; may I use it, bastard?"

Casually, as if half-asleep, Roy slowly pushed the bulky telephone in Edward's general direction, along with a steaming cup of black liquid. "I didn't drink out of it yet."

Edward bobbed his head eagerly and rushed to the desk, picking up the phone receiver and slamming his fingertip onto the dialing pad.

"May I ask who you're calling on my phone at…" The colonel glanced to the clock upon the wall. "…eight o'clock in the morning?"

"Home."

Mustang blinked at the succinct answer, and nodded, licking over his lips in acceptance to the reply. "Ah. Girlfriend?"

"_What_?" Edward sputtered, nearly dropping the telephone receiver. "Hahah! Are you kidding me? Of course not!"

"Your face reads otherwise. I'm not in this high ranking merely by bribes, looks, and talent. I have splendid deduction skills as well."

"Just shut up and let me – " Edward cut off and blinked a few times as the other line picked up with a weary, "Hello?" Cupping his palm over the bottom of the receiver, Edward supported himself upon the edge of the desk, and spit in a low tone, "Winry?"  
"Ed, is that…you're finally calling!" A giggle from the opposite end of the phone wires. "Are you coming home? Please tell me you're coming home!"

"…No, I'm not."

Silence.

Roy poked him from behind with a pen. "I told you it was your girlfriend."

Edward twisted around and sent him a look that obviously read G_row up, bastard_. Turning his attention back to the phone, he sighed, "Sorry, Winry. I'm really busy. But I called to wish you a happy birthday!"

Miles away, on the other end of the telephone, Winry slumped into the couch, clutching at the receiver as tears built in her eyes. "But…" she whispered, hanging her head and gripping onto the mechanism until her knuckles whitened and her hands trembled. "But, you said you'd come home…for my birthday, you said so last time, Ed."

"I know…I know."

Another poke from behind. Edward gritted his teeth. "Look, baby," he muttered into the phone, as low as he could, so as not to be heard by the nosy man behind him. "I'm sorry. I really am."

"Don't be sorry."

"I wanted to come, I really did!"

"It's okay."

"Are you gonna cry? You're gonna cry aren't you."

"No…"  
"I can hear it in your voice."

"Its your giiiiirlfriiiiiend."

"Roy, I swear I'm going to – "

"Are you busy?"

"No, no…" Edward swatted at Roy's hand while trying to lean away from the desk, scowling. "Just babysitting."

A giggle. Ed grinned. Good, he got her to laugh again.

"Listen," he chuckled, "I'll get you something, and send it to you. Maybe a train ticket…and we can go out to eat. Okay? I'll find something. I'm sorry I'm a little late."  
"I miss you."

"I miss you, too. Is it snowing there?"

"Yeah, a lot! Remember that time when we were little?"  
"Yeah."

"Fullmetal," Roy grabbed for the phone receiver, "you are using up my phone. I have to chip in for the bill you know!"

"Whatever!" Edward snorted, holding the telephone tighter to his ear. "Hey, Winry, baby, I gotta go. I promise you, I will see you soon. Love you. Happy birthday!"

Slamming the phone back to its cradle before the colonel could pester him further, he turned and darted out the door, slamming it shut behind him. "Told you," the raven-haired man mumbled, and drew the telephone towards him again.

Abruptly, the door flew open again, and Edward dashed in, snatched the coffee mug, and hurried back out.

Colonel Roy Mustang smirked. It was nice seeing the oldest Elric brother with something else to occupy his time besides reading.

Something like true love.

**OWARI.**


	6. Smiles and Her Laughter

**SUGAR COOKIES AND MEMORIES**

**A Collection of Drabbles  
Disclaimers: I don't own FMA.**

**A/N: Eh. Random idea that I got from something me and my Win were joking around about. Both thought it was cool, so I hit on it. No direct storyline; I kinda just..dove in. xD **

**(Excuse any grammatical errors. ♥ Drabble title © From First to Last, _Emily_.)**

--

_Smiles and Her Laughter_

--

Her eyes were dark with anticipation. Trembling, heart-racing, stomach-aching anticipation. She was gripping the hem of her white blouse in her hands so tightly that her fingernails were digging through the thin cloth and raking her palms.

"Edward," she whispered, paper-thin, letting his name roll off her tongue and tumble over her lips in a desperate attempt to calm him down. To cool his ire. To blanket his pain.

She hadn't known that her innocent statement would set him off so thoroughly. Why wouldn't he just tell her what was wrong? Why wouldn't he stop staring at her so intensely, why wouldn't his eyes just leave hers, why wouldn't his face relax?

Was she really so annoying?

--

He gnashed his teeth together so hard the pain in his jaws reverberated up into his temples. He really didn't understand why her words had sparked such a huge sensation, throughout his entire frame; something erupted in his chest and billowed up throughout his torso, an odd tight feeling, almost uneasy, almost heavy, but so unexplainable it killed him. His throat clenched in – what? Anger? Disquiet? Repulsion?

_"I don't know why you refuse to stay home anyway. It's like your avoiding me." _She had punctuated with a giggle for christ's sake!

He felt his fingers curl into his palms repeatedly, fists forming and then unfolding. Before he could diagnose exactly what was shaking through his build right now, making him hurt, making him so confused, he caught himself barking, "Maybe I _am_ avoiding you."

--

Her shoulders jerked as she recoiled. For a moment she had seen a cloud of disorientation pass through his piercing, dynamic eyes. A thought passed through her mind briefly but was hidden behind the larger things exploding behind the blue optics that so easily shattered into droplets of silver: _that's why he hides his eyes so much, they speak more than he does and he hates it._

"I-I…what are you talking about?" she said, carefully, forcefully.

"Didn't you hear me?" he hissed, his shoulders quaking as his fury seemed to increase. Was she really that _stupid_? How did she manage to push him over the edge _this_ time?

--

He watched her face as her brows furrowed down. Her lips were parted and she looked almost…afraid.

_Afraid_.

"Do you…do you hate me, Ed?" she asked. Her voice was so calm. So worried, but so calm, like she was ready for any answer. Her beautiful eyes – they were so goddamn beautiful, why hadn't he ever noticed them this way before? – hardened for a second, before she lowered them, as if ashamed to stare directly into his any longer.

Afraid of _him_.

Why wouldn't she look! Was she so scared! Why wouldn't she stop worrying and start listening!

--

She wanted to cry.

She seriously wanted to cry.

She could feel the tears stinging the back of her eyes.

She could feel her heart pummeling her rib cage.

Her stomach knotting up and folding in on itself.

Her hands started to shake, so she tightened her grip on her shirt.

What happened to the Edward she knew? She really hadn't meant what she said that way. She was just joking around.

He was so confusing.

The past few days he had been lost in thought, thinking so painstakingly that she often stumbled upon him sitting and staring straight forward with a look of utter idiocy on his visage, a look that clearly stated he was no longer in Amestris but in the world that consisted only of his concerns: his eyes were blank or clouded, and his lips were either parted and his frame rigid, or his mouth turned into a smile and his back against a wall. She had asked him the other day when she passed him in the hallway if he could smell the apple pie she was baking for later (which, she hoped, would get him to pay more attention to things at home before he left again: a futile attempt that she would never give up on), his gaze didn't even flicker.

For three days, and even this fourth one, she was giving it her all. She was working on his repairs, she was making dinner, she was cleaning for Pinako, she was talking to him, laughing with him – or _trying _to. At least Alphonse would acknowledge her.

But she wasn't waiting for Alphonse to come to the realization.

--

He dropped his gaze, a lock of hair hiding his right eye. He kept his left one focused on her deeply.

He wasn't sure what to say. He didn't want her to fear him.

Was he really so scary?

Was he?

"I…" he started, but snapped his mouth shut when she turned her face to him so expectantly. The overwhelming feeling in his chest bloomed into something incredibly unbearable, and he swung his left arm up, slamming it into the wall and pinning her against it.

She gasped.

She gasped, "What, Ed? You…what?"

--

"I hate you."

He said it so coldly, so smoothly. Like he really meant it.

Her perfect, cherubic eyes poured over into rivers of glittering sapphire. She opened her mouth to ask him why, ask him how he could hate her, what she did wrong, but all that emerged from her lips was a pathetic bubbling noise. Her brows furrowed her eyes into slits so that she could barely see him through the tears.

But she could still see his consuming golden gaze, stuck on hers.

--

_I hate you_.

Those three words had slipped out of his throat so easily. And he instantly regretted it. She was _crying_ again for christ's sake!

For christ's sake, for christ's sake; he needed to stop thinking and to _do _something, before she simply walked away and left him slumped on the wall, shaking.

"I hate you so much," he snapped.

He just couldn't stop, could he?

Her head jerked down into her palms and her shoulders rolled roughly as she let out a sharp wail, sobbing into her fingers. Her hair fell over her arms shook as her body did.

"I…I hate you. I hate you so much, that every time I think of you my stomach twists."

Strident inhalation from before him. His own breath caught in his throat and he felt his face pulling into a grimace, but he refrained.

"I hate you so much that every time I talk about you my voice cracks."

As if to taunt him, to mock him, his voice did just that.

"I hate you so much that every time I see you my heart races and my blood heats up and I can't do or say anything without it being stupid."

His fingers curled on the plaster of the wall, just above her blonde tresses.

"I hate you so much that when you talk to me, I feel so warm, all over, and I start to shake."

His heart jumped into his throat and he almost choked on his words.

"I hate you so much that being around you makes me sick to my stomach and my head pounds so agonizingly that I can _feel_ my thoughts leaving my mind and bouncing off the walls to smack me in the face again."

She drew in a quivering, shrill breath and erupted into horribly wet shrieks.

"I hate you so much that I can't sleep at night. I hate you so much that my mouth goes dry and I get dizzy and I can't look at you without feeling like I'm going to fall over."

--

"_Stop_," she howled, yanking her hands from her face and glaring up at him, her cheeks utterly soaked and her eyes bright blue, water fall slits. "Stop it, Ed! Stop it _right now_! I don't want to hear it anymore, okay? I'm sorry I can't do anything to make you happy. I'm sorry you hate me. But all I want is for you to be the _same_. The _same_ as you used to. When you _didn't_ hate me."

Wherever her outburst had come from, she was so relieved it had. She gave up on her trembling knees and let herself slide to the floor, hanging her head to stare at her black skirted thighs, gripping her hands together atop her knees and sniffling.

--

His mouth hung open, mid-breath, for his next string of explanations. He watched the top of her head, watched her as she wiped her eyes and tried to calm herself. Shuddering breaths entered and left her, shoulders heaving.

He snapped his orifice shut and narrowed his eyes, feeling the sensation in his chest slowly sink downwards, felt his stomach pinch up and make his throat coat with an awful metal taste.

"I hate you," he whispered hoarsely, running out of anything to say. "And it's not changing."

--

She stopped at his mutter. Her eyes darted around the floorboards, but settled on his boots. They moved up his shins, up his thighs, up his stomach, up to his face, where she peered up at him with a look of seraphic confusion, utter and loyal wondering. He was staring down at her, as if surprised by his own actions.

Then it clicked.

It clicked so suddenly in her mind that a smile flashed across her face and her heart bloomed up into her neck and throat and mind. She actually felt a heat on her cheeks.

"Ed," she whispered, the smile brightening into an overjoyed, tear-stained beaming that ate up her whole face. He peered at her, waiting. "Ed," she repeated, low, soft. "That's not hate. That's love."

--

Startled.

Taken-aback.

Whatever it was, he simply gawked down at her, lips parted, frozen in place. For a few moments, the urge to bend down and hug her floated through his chest and up into his head. But he refused. Out of stubbornness, or out of fear, or out of hate or out of love, he didn't know. But he couldn't. He was stuck standing there.

So he smiled.

--

**OWARI.**


	7. Oh My

**SUGAR COOKIES AND MEMORIES**

**A Collection of Drabbles**

**Disclaimer: I don't own FMA. But I do own a phone. A contaminated phone.**

**A/N: GUESS WHAT TODAY IS:D It. Is. International Phone Sex Day. 11.25.06 I bet all of you have just closed this window, thinking, _Oh my god, this author has gone insane, writing about…phone sex?_ But I promise you on my soul that I AM NOT INSANE! I just have a really good idea.**

**WARNING**

**This is rated M for MATURE CONTENT. Why the fuck else would it be rated "M". Jesus. xD Yuh. Explicit content and language**

**EXPLICIT.**

**Read if you dare.**

**x3**

**(Please excuse any typos. Thank you.)**

--

_Oh My!_

--

His forehead hit the tabletop five times in repetition. _Thud_. _Thud_. _Thud. Thud._ _Thud_. If anybody else were in the room at the time, he was sure that they would crack some type of joke – "Ed, you're so dense you make the table shudder" or "Ed, you make hollow sounds when you hit your head like that". Sighing heavily in response to his thoughts, his fingers curling and uncurling on the polished wood of the table, his breath fogging up the shining, glass-smooth mahogany surface, he moved his mouth in tune to the telephone.

_Riiiiiiiiiing_.

_Riiiiiiiiiing._

_Riiiiiiiiiing._

And then throughout the house, directly on time – as it had been for the past countless minutes – echoed the thumping footsteps of Winry Rockbell racing her way down from the upper level of the building, loud enough to be a vicious stampede of herself.

"I'll get it!" she screeched, each word drawing out into its own endless march of syllables. Edward groaned onto the tabletop. He heard the frigid whispers of his brother shaking his metallic head through the threshold in the living room, his tinny giggles reverberating and bouncing off the insides of his bulky, confining body.

_THUMP._

_THUMP._

_THUMP._

"Fuck, Winry!" the blonde boy snorted, lifting his head off the (now smudged) tabletop, aiming a tetchy glower in her direction, his eyes narrowed in supposed disgust, fingers curling into fists where his cheek had made the marks on the smooth wood.

The blonde girl blew him a kiss as she snatched up the receiver, immediately letting out a rapid bubble into the curved end of it: "Hello, Rockbell Automail, how can I help you today!"

Edward's eyes trailed up and down her body as she chattered, his reproachful expression making it look as if he were sizing her up: the way she leaned against the counter, talking on the phone like a natural – and that she was. A goddamn natural talker. She was wearing one of her stupid skanky

(_they're not skanky Edward you know you like them_)

tops, cutting off just below her ribcage. The zipper bounced and tinkled on her breasts, and her stomach and chest rose in and out and up and down rapidly as she caught her breath and spoke at the same time. Long legs, hidden within her proverbial jumpsuit, tied about the waist again, were crossed, keeping her balance as she used the counter to prop herself up. She wasn't wearing her sandals, and her bare, tiny toes curled on the wooden floorboards absently.

Edward snorted again. He slouched down and rested his face in his hand, the cool, smooth metal palm pushing his cheek over to pucker his lips out slightly, said mouth parted just a bit as he watched the blonde girl rather intently, his narrowed eyes amused, bored, and scrutinizing at the same time.

When the receiver hit the cradle again, Winry took a deep breath, sighed, and then turned her energetic gaze towards Ed. Immediately spreading into a smile, she giggled, and flounced towards the table, running her hand up his back towards his braid.

"This is your fault," he accused abruptly, staring up at her petulantly.

"What is?" she murmured, her dark lashes falling over her sapphire optics as she leaned down to push her nose into the blind spot between his eyes.

"The fact that I am sitting here at ten o'clock in the morning with absolutely nothing to do while you run around upstairs doing shit with your little tools and machinery, when you're the one who wanted me and Al to stay an extra fucking day."

"You don't sound that mad about it." Winry bounced on her toes and heels, pulling her face away and ducking her head, peering out at him like a puppy, her lower lip protruding gently. He scowled up at her, poorly hiding his insincerity in the expression. After a moment he grinned, and tugged on one of the two dangling sleeves with his free hand, eyeing her impishly.

"Maybe I am and maybe I'm not."

"Edward!" Winry squealed, giggled, smacked his hand away. "I have _work_."

"Yuh," he grunted, his grin fading into a childishly hurt frown, his brows furrowing and the laughter dying out of his eyes – still there, but the flame diminished its previous radiance. "Of course you do."

Winry watched him a moment, her own smile slowly dissipating, before she turned it back up, forcing it to progress into a huge beaming. "I'm sorry. I can take a break if you want me to!"

He shook his head. Her smile switched sharply into a pout. Of course now he would be too stubborn to let her do anything but work. "Okay," she huffed. "I'll work really fast. But now I have about three projects to finish by dinner tonight." She held up three fingers to express.

"Yuh," Edward said again, and rested his chin into folded arms. "Okay."

She leaned down, catching his ear in a whisper-soft, quick kiss as she swept past him. "I swear it'll be quick, and I'll take a lunch break."

"I'll read," he mumbled, flashing her a blank face but a look in his eyes that was grinning again, a slight flush to his cheeks. He watched

(_her ass her hair her legs her bounce, why is she the one working now and I'm the one waiting now?_)

her as she left the room and heard her as she hurried back up the stairs. Alphonse said from the living room, obviously having listened in innocently to the conversation in the kitchen, "Brother, I have some books if you – "

_Riiiiiiiiiing_.

_Riiiiiiiiiing_.

_Riiiiiiiiiing_.

Edward's forehead smacked the tabletop with a rather loud _THUD_. "Ring, ring, ring, Winry its forfuckingyou!" he mumbled, glaring at the room from his sideways view atop the table.

"I'll get it!" came Winry's cheery, vivacious call. The stairs howled in pain beneath her bare feet as she _THUMP_ed her way back down the stairs, breezing into the kitchen from the living room, followed by Alphonse's verbal glance.

Edward's eyes trailed her, dead and bored and monotone, his lips parted and creating more breath-smudges and face-smudges on the (once clean) table. Winry flew at the phone, picking it up like it would end her life if she didn't answer it, the words tumbling from her mouth as Ed's mouth moved in mocking mirror action, his gaze no longer dreary but narrowed again:

"Hello, Rockbell Automail, how can I help you today!"

She wasn't looking at him, though. She was looking at her feet, tapping them up and down on the floor and gripping the phone cord like a

(_adorable, fucking adorable_)

little five year old girl. Edward scooted out of the chair silently and shuffled towards the threshold of the kitchen. He could feel her watching him, and towards his brother, he smirked. Waving at Alphonse, he shut the kitchen door firmly.

He rid of his grin and turned, crossing his arms over his chest and raising his brows at the cornered girl, leaning on the kitchen, staring at him with a huffy kind of confusion, saying her last lines to the person on the other end of the phone line.

The receiver slipped out of her slender fingers and fell into place on the cradle as Winry peered at him, her brow furrowing and her mouth open as she tried to see what he was up to. Of course she couldn't. She never could.

"Are you done now?" Ed asked her, frowning further than he had before.

"Well, no, I – " Winry rolled into a sharper pout, tilting her head and crossing her arms in turn. "I just got another call from a customer, and he needs me to look at his leg. The ankle is rolling, so he probably lost a few screws, but he's one of the – "

Edward cut her off with a loud laugh. She jumped. He flashed her a pearly grin, brows raising again, his hands dropping off his torso to shove into the denim pockets of his jeans. "So, other people can lose screws and you're okay with it, and I can't without you getting ultimately pissed?"

"That's not true!" she squealed, snapping forward as if someone had shoved her shoulder, though her feet stayed in place. His grin broadened as her pout deepened further and further, until her chin was almost touching her collarbone. "Okay, maybe it is."

"Break time?" Edward eyed her hopefully, moving across the room and swinging a chair around in front of her, plopping down onto it and peering up at her with wide eyes, looking much like a kindergartener ready for snack-time to begin already.

"I can't, I – "

He tugged on the dangling sleeve again.

"Okay! Okay, okay," she giggled. Her pout disappeared, softening into a smile as she slid her hands up the tugging arm, finger curling on his latent muscularity. His eager-toddler expression faded into a gentler one, his lashes lowered and his breath falling out of his lips like invisible feathers. He moved his hands away from the sleeves of her tied jumpsuit, smoothing his palms over her hips, craning upwards from his chair as she leaned down from leaning on the –

_Riiiiiiiiiing._

_Riiiiiiiiiing._

Winry blinked at him, staring with a kind of dazed innocence, before she erupted into giggles, straightening up and turning to the screaming telephone. Edward's expression fell, his lip curling as he threw himself back into a slump, arms crossing, eyes narrowing.

"Hello, Rockbell Automail, how may I help you today."

His amber optics moved up and down her body again, flicking from her gorgeous blue ones to her waist to her hands and back again. How many projects was that now, five? And he and his brother were leaving

(_do it do it do it_)

tomorrow at noon. Scowling up at her apologetic frown, he

(_DO IT DO IT DO IT_)

shrugged roughly. "No, no, we can always fit you in. What time can you come today?" Edward snorted. Winry frowned further.

(_DO_)

He leaned forward again, sliding his hands onto her hips again. She squeaked, eyeing him with a slight pink dusting across her cheeks.

(_IT_)

Ed tilted his head, staring up at her through his lashes, his sharp frown fading away into the forgotten. His fingers curled around a dangling sleeve, and he pulled at the loose but neat knot, undoing her secure, makeshift belt. The color on her cheeks darkened and she stumbled over a word. He hummed to spite her as he unzipped the jumpsuit the rest of the way, revealing her panties now.

"I-I, yes, why don't you do that?" she squeaked, gaping down at him as he moved. "Yes! I'll be right here, just call and we'll schedule it okay? Okay. Thank you. Okay. Yes. Good bye."

The receiver hit the cradle with an enticed jingle and she gripped onto his hands before he could pry past the elastic beginnings of her black panties. "WHAT are you DOING!" Winry hissed, flustered. Her cheeks were flushed and her heart was pounding within her rib cage.

"Shh," he mumbled, glancing up at her with a dark pout in his eyes. "Just be quiet okay? Break time." And with that he shook her hands off and hooked his fingers on the soft cotton of her panties, pulling them down.

The cold air hitting her so suddenly made shivers twist up and down her spine like snakes, her frame trembling delicately for just a few seconds. Her small brows furrowed down together and she pressed her lips together tight, her eyes troubled and nervous; her elbows hit the edge of the counter to balance herself more as she ducked her head to shade her eyes with her bangs.

The tips of longer strands of hair tickled his temple as he stood up. Her panties slid back into spot two inches above where her crotch really started. Gently taking her hand, Ed tugged her so she sat down. She fell into the chair like a doll, obviously tentative about what she knew he was about to do. "Hey," she whispered. He flicked his eyes from the kitchen door to hers and

(_god are my eyes so clouded and anxious and HOT too_)

smiled right back at her smile. Edward's knees hit the floor soundlessly, and his fingers slipped up and down her thighs, his left digits picking up the rough but soft material of her jumpsuit. Reaching into the unzipped area, he pulled her panties down again, leaning in a bit. Glancing at her, one last warning and one last inquire for approval, he took the dazed, blushing stare on her face for the answer, and kissed her naval softly, just barely brushing his lips against her skin.

He paused, his breath dusting the flesh that rarely met air, as he felt her fingers glide into his hair. A shiver jerked down his spine as she stroked his scalp, her hand shaking some. A smile pulled at his mouth, and he began to kiss around the velvet-soft skin

(_holy fuck she shaves_)

that was completely void of any hair, except for barely visible and barely tangible blonde fuzz, tickling his lips somewhat and making his face heat up. He kissed down towards her smooth slit, nearly completely hidden within her panties, and then moved back up towards her hipbones. Her fingers tightened and then uncurled on his head, a gasp hitting his ears and her hips moving as she squirmed back and forth.

Edward glanced up to her, wondering how the hell he should tell her to shift her position so he could actually get to her pussy, when her hips rocked again, and she was scooting around, sitting in a slump as if she had read his thoughts. His lips parted on the stretch of skin between her hips and her crotch, he shivered.

"Hurry," Winry murmured, swirling her fingers on his scalp. "Please hurry."

His brows furrowed and he shook his head gently, letting his nose brush her skin as well. His tongue darted out, trailing down towards her nakedness, and he swerved it away at the last moment again. Her breath hitched into another sharp inhalation and her hips swiveled slightly. The blonde boy nosed his way down further, until his lips rested just on the slit of what was supposedly the most private thing anyone could ever attain from her – he

(_oh my god this is really winry holy shit I'm in her crotch what the fuck oh damn I love this what if she doesn't_)

sighed gently, slowly, letting his breath tickle up and down her skin. As if in response to his racing, tumbling thoughts, Winry's gasp squeaked, and her hips rocked again.

(_shit shit shit_)

His brows furrowed down even more. Her skin still tasted as sweet as the skin on her neck, on her hand, on her face; it was warmer, moister. A few minutes passed as he slipped his tongue into the fragile crevice of her pussy's lips, sliding it up and down, his eyes slowly shutting, shutting _tight_. Her hand froze in his hair and he could barely hear her gasps and whimpers, like they were coming from down the hall and not just above his head.

Winry's stomach clenched and her heart raced, shivers snapping throughout her body. Her muscles tensed and she hunched forward, her breasts dusting his forehead. Her blue eyes squeezed shut and her free hand found his left shoulder, squeezing it, pawing at it like a cat; when her thumb dug into the scoop between his clavicle and socket, she felt him inhale and felt his tongue twitch inside her. Her voice fell from her mouth with puffs of air and squeaky whimpers. God, she loved him. She loved this boy. She loved this _feeling. _She didn't want him to have to go tomorrow, she wanted him to stay and do this to her every day and maybe even go further at night; she wanted to wake up with him in the kitchen waiting for breakfast every morning, and fall asleep with him laying right next to her; she wanted the world to be at peace and she –

Something wet and warm slipped into her canal and she drew in a shrieking, gasping breath.

Edward's breath caught in his throat and left his mouth as a grunt. Slipping his tongue into her was an exquisite, tight, _wet_ feeling; he withdrew his tongue slightly, and then pushed it in again, savoring the feel of her inner walls squeezing weakly and her legs twitching under his hands. He shifted on his knees, feeling his boxers and the front of his jeans begin to shrink against his growing…

(_hard on hard on oh my god hard on_)

excitement. He opened his mouth wider, felt a bit of black cotton catch on his lower lip. Her fingers digging in and out of his socket like that was driving him crazy, making his jeans tighten more, making his stomach twist up into his chest which made his heart pummel heavily, make his head light. The way she was squirming and the noises she was making…he loved them. He moved his tongue out again, and shoved it in as far as he could, trying not to graze her with his teeth. The inner lining of her canal reacted again, and he swirled his tongue around in the tightness. She groaned into his hair, gripped his shoulder tighter. He inhaled sharply.

It seemed to go on forever, the tautness of his pants and the moving of her pussy, the motions of his tongue and her wiggling fingers, her heavy breathing and stifled noises, her squirming and his grunts and guttural gasps. Finally he heard, as if through a thick fog, her quivering, high pitched whimper, "Oh…oh, Ed, please…I'm sorry, I'm sorry, hold on baby…"

He had no idea what she was apologizing for. His brows angled and if his eyes hadn't been squeezed shut they'd have been narrowed. He tilted his head off to the side, swirling his tongue –

"H-hello, Rockbell Automail, how can…I help you today!"

Edward froze.

He exhaled slowly through his nose, and

(_oh shit hahah this is kind of funny oh my fucking shit_)

from somewhere down deep in his mind, something told him to be evil, to be mischievous, to be horrible, to keep going. He moved his tongue around in her thickly, loving the taste and the wet feeling, the moistness already circling his mouth

(_naughty child I'm like a naughty child eating the cookie before dinner_)

illicitly. He felt her shudder, felt her gripping onto his hair and tugging it, trying to make him stop. After a moment he realized the pleasurable feel of her fingers in his left shoulder was gone.

"…Yes, yes, I remembered you were going to call back."

His mouth curled into a hidden smile as he pulled his tongue, slowly, slowly, out of her vagina and licked around his lips, his nose resting on her wet crotch. He felt her trembling. For a split second, he wanted to tell her how good she was at acting like everything was normal and keeping her voice so steady and quiet, but he opted not to, and dove in again.

"I – " The one syllable squeaked and she gasped loudly. He was being such an _ASS_! Going back in and running his tongue…running…his tongue, he was being an ass, and – "O…oh my! Oh my! Oh my!"

The man on the other end of the line was silent a minute, before he questioned steadily, "Miss Rockbell? Is everything alright?"  
"Y…yes, yes, _yes_, everything is _fine_! I just spilled my tea everywhere and I think I – " Winry's embarrassment escalated as she sank her teeth into her lip to stifle a loud groan. His lips were moving rapidly up towards her clit. "I…need to clean this up, do you mind?" His tongue hit her clit and she dropped the phone, lurching forward and gripping onto his shoulders and moaning shrilly into Ed's ear. He groaned in response, fidgeting around like he was uncomfortable.

HE was uncomfortable! HE WAS – oh.

She giggled rapidly into his ear and shuddered as he began to suck her clit, her giggles quickly turning from bubbly laughter into high, shrieking gasps and whimpers. Her legs twitched as he worked away at her pussy, her hand massaging his left shoulder and her heart jumping from its spot up to her throat, leaping over and over.

From the floor beside his knee, Edward heard a voice, distorted by technology, cry, "Miss Rockbell!" He nudged it with his knee and she swept it up, taking gulps of breath as her whole body trembled.

"Yes?" she said calmly.

Mentally, Edward applauded her.

"Yes. Yes, all fine now. I broke my favorite cup. I'm sorry. Can I call you back? Yes? Yes, okay. Thank you."

As if in slow motion, the telephone was back in its bed again. A few seconds passed, before she tumbled forward again, her legs trying to twitch together but his hands and face preventing it, her arms shaking as she looped them around his neck, gasping loudly into his ear, her breath embracing the curvatures of it. "Oh…oh, my…oh Ed, please!"

The taste in his mouth suddenly went from sweet to that odd, metallic rush that one gets from extreme nerves. He gasped on her clit, pressing his thighs together to try to ease the stiffness between them. A screw in his left knee pressed through the denim and against his right knee. Her gasping turned to shrill moans and soft shrieks as her fingers curled and uncurled on his neck, her nails grazing the skin and making the hair there prickle up. Edward's brows furrowed again, deeper, and he sucked harder, faster, on the gentle bump between his lips.

"Ed, Ed, Ed, oh my…oh…oh…"

Harder, faster, harder, faster…

(_don't bite her on accident you stupid ass_)

"Ed, oh, oh, oh…!"

Abruptly, with one loud, shrill gasp, almost a screech, Winry curled forward on him, breaking his face away from her crotch, her entire body shuddering as she toppled ahead, off the edge of the chair. Edward's eyes shot open and he jerked backwards, catching her as she fell, his back slamming against the hardwood floor and forcing a deep grunt out of his throat. Her exposed,

(_oh my god wet wet wet oh my fucking god wet wet wet oh damn_)

damp crotch pressed into the

(_throbbing throbbing throbbing dammit that's embarrassing_)

lump in the front of his. His head rolled backwards, hitting the floor, arms wound around her waist tightly, so tight that her breasts were so smashed on his torso that the zipper at the top of her shirt was digging into his collarbone. Her nose was buried deep into his shoulder, her breath, heavy and hot, making a moist section on his chin and neck. Two hearts pounded together, both chests heaving with much needed air. Winry was still trembling, her lips moving on his skin but nothing but the sound of them dusting together emitted from her.

"Winry…" Edward's tongue rolled out of his mouth and around his lips, making the wet circle around it even wetter. His lashes lowered and he glanced towards her, but could see nothing above her upper lip. She was smiling. "Baby?"

"Can you stay another day?"

His own mouth flicked into a sad smile. The telephone began to ring again. Neither of the two moved. Her arms around his neck simply tightened, creating a sort of pillow for him. His tiny smile broadened upward. "I wish," he mumbled, and rubbed his nose against her forehead. She pulled away so he could see her eyes. For a second he expected the tears to start, but she simply stared at him, still shaking

(_god why won't she stop shaking_)

but still smiling. "I know you do," she whispered against his chin. "I know you do."

Winry paused, and tilted her head a bit, tipping it into his shoulder more. "Edward…?" she murmured softly, a pink coming across her cheeks again.

"What?" he grunted, shifting slightly, so as not to hurt her arms beneath his head.

"Are you trying to fuck me through your pants?"

His entire body tensed. A hot flame poured into his face and spread on it. Edward slowly looked towards the telephone, which, at his glance, promptly shut up, and then turned back towards her. She smiled at him – a beaming that was coy, knowing, and devious at the same time. He squirmed

(_oh my god that look she's giving me is so hot_)

around beneath her and then snapped into a sharp scowl. "What, you expect me to eat you out and not get pleasure out of it?"

Winry giggled and hid into his neck again. "Oh my," she whispered. "Oh my, Mr. Happy Pants. I love you. Oh my, oh my."

Edward snorted, rolling his narrowed eyes up to the ceiling. Despite the defeated, disconcerted look on his face, his voice was warm and low, as sincere as Edward Elric would ever be to someone.

"Oh my," he mumbled. "I love you too."

**OWARI.**

**A/N: OHHHH MYYYY GOD. I had to do RESEARCH while I wrote this.**

**IF YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN.**

**-topples.-**

**I died.**


	8. Thinking

**SUGAR COOKIES AND MEMORIES**

**A Collection of Drabbles**

**Disclaimers: I do not own FMA. **

**A/N: Heh. I finally spit out some more fanfiction. ee I love you, Miss Forgetful! You're always my inspiration! xD**

--

_Thinking _

--

When one is sitting on a bench-like seat on a train bound for one of the most illustrious Amestris cities, back aching from two days on such a rest (hard, wooden, stiff), one can get very bored, and very persnickety, from all the crying babies, smoking men, newspapers opening and closing, screaming children, howling women, stops, starts, and jerking wheels, resulting in much too much time to think. The large suit of armor next to him had shut down – the soul sheltered within had obviously had its fill of thinking as well.

It was hot and stuffy in this train, and he could do nothing about it. He'd tried to open the window hours before, but it had only jammed, and just as he had resorted to clapping his hands, someone down the aisle screamed at him to "stop that ruckus". So he was half-dressed (missing his coat, his jacket, his gloves, and his hair shifted up into a ponytail) and surrendered to thoughts.

Outside the stubborn window, scenery was flying by: the hills of the countryside were fading into the flatlands; in the distance his eyes caught the sparkle of the river from his memories. And nostalgia reared its bleeding head, accompanied by fond memories and thinking. He could still hear the splashing of the water beneath his pudgy hands, the giggling of her and his brother and himself, too; the feel of the water around his knees near the banks still icy and fresh in his mind. He exhaled with exasperation, allowing his temple to hit the window with a dull thud. He supposed she was right.

Edward Elric thought way too much.

What else had she said, in her sweet, bubbly voice? She had once told him –

NO! What was he doing? He couldn't think about her while in Central. He simply couldn't afford to be distracted.

She had also informed him he researched too much.

What had he told her? You worry too much.

Too much, too much.

He loved her too much.

He snuck a glance towards his armor brother to make sure he was still "asleep". Taking a slow breath, he then settled into the corner of the bench-seat as comfortably as he could, and his mind succumbed completely to thinking.

What had started this whole feeling about her? He didn't remember. He'd been with her since he was smaller than grade school, and each day he drew from the back of his mind seemed filled with her. The cheery blonde girl down the road simply filled all the voids of his childhood – as short as it turned out to be. There was a flash in the beginning of his memory, of a man, with a large nose, blonde ponytail, and bulky overcoat. In his mind's eye he watched him shut the front door behind him, heard his mother start crying. And then the scene transformed into her, surrounded by black: her milky skin, illuminated by some latent light that made it seem to glow, her blonde hair pulled back into two little pigtails, only an inch long each. Stray, curly wisps dusted her ears, her sapphire blue eyes slit because her rosy lips were stretched up into a delighted, happy smile. She was wearing her pink dress again (the one with the flowers, that he had once tried to stain on purpose, just to get her mad) and was carrying her sandals in her hands. She giggled, a sound utterly angelic in his mind's hearing, and turned to run off into the dark shadows within his thoughts. Her footsteps echoed, along with her laughter. His memories started officially for him then, with each day he spent playing with her. They were no more than little kids, laughing and playing in the mud (that was him), under the tree with dollies (that was her), creeping under the porch (that was him), sneaking into the workshop (that was her), or playing with the puppy (that was both of them). The baby in his family would be coddled by his mom and cooed over by her mom; her grandma would bring them snacks, and her dad always brought him books. Once, when they were starting school, she had called him a nerd because his nose was always buried in the medical books or the books from the library or the books he found in his dad's den. He said she should go fix something, suggested it to be her broken brain, and they huffed and argued the rest of the week until four year old Alphonse told them they were both smart and handy, and they made up.

At first, he thought of her as a playmate – a sister, almost. That changed the day the soldiers came. His mother had been very wary, warning he and his brother to stay in the house. His brother obediently kept to her side, staring out the window at the marching men with her, but he hadn't heeded her words. He'd escaped out the dining room window, tumbling into his mother's vegetable garden, and zigzagged through the thousands of blue-clad men (he nearly collided with one), up the hill to her house. He had been scared, standing on the porch, hand on the front door's pewter handle: he could hear her wailing hysterically beyond the threshold before him. Upon venturing inside, he found that her parents had been recruited as doctors for the military from her grandmother, and the sight of her lying on the floor, screaming and crying and hiccupping about how she hated soldiers, made something within him click; something that drew him back day after day after that. He played with her, silly six-year-old games; he ate meals with her; after a week, his brother joined them, and they were never apart.

His next memory nearly always made his stomach pinch in painful recollection. The days were filled with his mother's declining health, and he strayed from the house up the hill, to help out around his own home for his mom. The days she didn't even attempt to get out of bed, he sent his brother to school with Winry, and had (gladly) skipped out to do all the chores and care for her.

His memories of a certain school-less day were like cobwebs. He tried desperately to swish them away, but they stuck to him stubbornly. His mother had been talking in her feverish sleep. She mumbled names, names he couldn't recognize. He brought her tea, broth, medicine; he sat on a straight-backed chair by her side and watched her with worried eyes. He read to her from her books, from his books, from books he found in his brother's room. She had awoken once, and looked straight at him. He dropped his book (something he considered treason) and lit up, waiting to see if she was regaining strength for the day. Her lips moved with silent words, and then she had smiled, and reached towards him, asking, "Hohenheim…is that you?"

He had cried. He hadn't cried since the day the trio had found out her parents had died. He had sat right there and cried. How could she mistake him for the very person he loathed? She was sleeping again, ignorant to how savagely her feverish innocence had cut him. Hunched over his knees, he sniveled and tried to keep his tears silent. His pants were dotted with fat drops of the liquid, and he wiped at them, had tried to make them go away. She had walked in on him that day. He heard her voice, from the threshold of his mother's room, to his back, saying, "Al said she was very sick today. I came to check if you needed help." "GO AWAY!" he had screamed at her. The fact that she had seen him bawling like a baby only deepened the wound, in a split second he resolved to never cry again, and his memories there ended with her feet, pounding, as she ran off down the hall. Everything in the room, conjured by nostalgia, shifted to form her grave, the sound of sobbing, all black. But he refused to cry. She was. Al was. But that man his mom had mistaken him for was not there, and even the recollection of that day made him feel cold again, at how much he had sincerely felt pure hate as he stood and stared blankly at his mother's epitaph. He refused to let her comfort him. He walked away.

She called him an alchemy freak. He retorted that she was a tool-loving idiot. His brother offered his cake to whoever gave in. Neither did. The dog barked. That autumn, he and his brother spent all their time lacking studies at her house: eating, playing, and arguing. His brother always made the peace though. Even at school they were inseparable. The boys teased him, so he would ditch Alphonse and Winry to play soccer, but he always walked home with them, making sure to stay close to her. Without her by his side, the day was utterly confusing, and there was nothing to console him.

His memories of that time were warm, filled with her giggle, her voice, her smile – and her contrasting personality of feisty and sweet. But in the back of their peaceful world, behind the sunny days and crisp air, beyond all the fake childhood he created for himself within those days, was the constant thunder cloud, foreboding and sneaking up on him when he and Alphonse retired to their den at night: their Plan. She knew nothing of the dangerous waters they were slowly wading into, and her cheerful purity kept he and his brother in high spirits as well. But because of the depth of their work, his memories of her now were gapped, filled with wormholes, crispy tears like pictures burned along with their house. They were scattered – a laugh, a smack, a comforting hug. He opted not to remember the accident today. And everything shifted over to his latest recollections – missions, work, fights, horrors, and repairs.

Repairs.

One of the first times he returned from Central with a whacked-up arm, she had kept bumping into him. A little touch of the hip here; her fingers tickling his skin there; a smile accompanying her tools; her hair dusting his nose and making him sneeze. Each of those four days was started with her and her bright smile, her long hair down and brushing to her waist; the second day he even stood by the door of the workshop and watched her begin the process of restoration: she put her hair up, and he smiled. She unzipped her jumpsuit, and he blushed. She retied it around her waist, and he glanced towards her hands. She was a very busy mechanic, but she did her job well. She didn't seem to have grown up much at all – save for the fact that she had grown _much _taller, she had gotten slender in the middle, plump in other areas, her hair had gotten very long, and her face had become more oval shaped. Her smile was the same, and therefore he was incapable of avoiding memories there, either. It still made his stomach flop and his breathing hitch to think about it. Each time they touched, even momentarily, while she measured him, he had felt the same feeling: a surge of happiness, followed by painful knowledge. It had hurt him so much to leave that weekend that he hadn't even turned around to say good-bye. He waved over his shoulder.

In Central he had wanted to call her, but he refused to succumb to "love" just yet. What he hadn't realized was that he already had. Days past, when he'd think of her to get to sleep, all the horrors of his current life departing for the time, replaced by warmth and longing, thankful that she was away from al the dangers he had to face, and soon he found himself returning to the countryside again. That time he had grabbed her hand with his left as she inspected his socket, and, not knowing what to do to seem casual, he had simply gawked at her fingers, before he turned his face to hers, and had muttered sheepishly, "I love you, Win." She had gasped, he had blushed, and before he knew it, she had engulfed him in a hug. He had let his lips brush her cheek, and she had cried. She had cried in his arms, hysterically. If anyone else in the house had noticed, they didn't say a word.

Edward Elric shook his head back and forth rapidly. He didn't want her voice ringing in his ears – "I love you, too." – right now. He couldn't take it. Bringing his suitcase up from near his feet, he opened it, figuring that he would read instead of think, he was cut off from his actions into an extremely startled grimace.

There, atop his books, resting on his clothes, was a piece of paper and a smaller book. The paper read, in her adorable, round handwriting, "I'll love you forever"; followed by a little heart she had drawn. Glancing to the book, he hesitated, before he slowly opened it up.

Twitching, he slammed it shut again. "Winry," he huffed, blushing. The cover of the book was covered with little bunny stickers, and flowers, and it was utterly and grossly pink. Stupid girls.

She had given him her diary, started with the date and handwriting that obviously gave away the fact that it had been scribed in grade school, bearing the line, "I think I love him…"

**OWARI.**


	9. Keep Dreaming Upside Down

**SUGAR COOKIES AND MEMORIES**

**Disclaimers: I don't own FMA.**

**A/N: Alright. I went looking for smut and all I found was Winry pregnant and Ed returning from Munich to be a daddy, and both of them crying and exchanging "I love you"s, and not that I have a problem with that, it's just that I am having flashbacks and I WANT SMUT. D: So. I am making some. :3 **

**Now, I was about to make this depressing; cruel and ass-kicking like life (and the ending of the FMA anime series/movie) really is, with two people who desperately want to be together separated and longing for one single touch. Buuuut. Just pure smut is better. So, I am doing this in my own little "universe" or whatever. Who knows? I might just give myself ideas for an _Experimenation II_?**

**x3 Be prepared for anything.**

**ALSO.**

**I know that some of the people who will be reading this are probably (hopefully) waiting for an update on _Experimentation_. Yeah. I miss that one, too. But…for some reason, it's just not one of my top priorities anymore. The latest chapters's subjects that I'm trying to write is sending me too many memories. Memories I don't want. Yeah. Emo little me! Dx Whatever. I'll work on it eventually. Sometimes, life overrides fandom. **

**(© October Fall for the title. :D)**

**Extremely slight spoilers of the manga, as this is post-manga – therefore, Edward has his limbs back, and Alphonse has his own body as well.**

**Any typos, please excuse.**

-

_Keep Dreaming Upside Down_

-

He wasn't a Roy Mustang kind of guy. But he wasn't exactly an Alphonse Elric kind of guy, either. He was just…a guy. A nineteen-year-old, ex-state alchemist, older brother, dorky best friend kind of guy. Sure, he knew that he was pretty damn good-looking, but he wasn't like that conceited, pompous bastard at Central HQ. The asshole was now just a few minor ranks away from hitting Führer; each time that notion passed across his mind, Edward smirked and shuddered at once. Who could imagine that arrogant jerk as the leader of the country? He would probably pass a law that stated that no woman could wear pants until the end of his terms.

No, he wasn't like him at all; he didn't _know_ that he was good-looking, and then strut around and inform people of it. He _knew_ it, sure, but he was humble. And just determining himself humble made him feel supercilious; he didn't like _that_ much.

His brother, Alphonse, was too coy and entirely modest, quiet, petite, mouse-like, and all around a polite little guy; he was sometimes too nice for his own good, Edward supposed. Yes, his brother had gotten looks from girls lately, and who could blame them, he'd figured. Ever since the transmutation a few years back, Alphonse had fucking _sprouted_. (And, as the older Elric's theory had proven correct, Edward's appetite and sleeping cycles had decreased slightly, from those of a bear to those of a wolf.) It gave Ed an almost fatherly satisfaction – and who could blame _him_ for that emotion? After all, he had essentially raised his brother, hadn't he?

Sure, Alphonse was oblivious to it all. His gently choppy strawberry-blonde hair had tinted a darker in the past couple months, and his normally milky skin had darkened a bit in turn. Alphonse had always been a bit taller than Edward; and when Ed had shot up two inches, Al had just a few months later. He was leaner, more muscular; his voice was deeper and his facial expressions were still as childish as ever – but they had as well gained a seriousness that all adolescents must some day manage to become what they inevitably will. He was helpful and he was happy, laughing and friendly and lighthearted. Innocent. That was it, _innocent_. Despite growing older, Alphonse Elric had remained _innocent_.

Edward had noticed _numerous _girls in Central watching as they both strolled down the cobble sidewalks, on their way to work or to the store, or maybe just out on a walk to have some fun. The two did that a lot often. One girl had even gone so far as to pull Edward aside as Al chatted with a cashier and exchanged sens for the meat for dinner, to ask him "where she might stumble upon his older brother" again.

Oh. Yes. Edward had been _mad_. He had sulked all the way home, promptly called Winry up when they got back to their apartment, and grumbled and ranted and pouted to her amusement. Alphonse was as utterly oblivious to his suitors as Winry informed Edward he was. She had told him after he was finished throwing a fit on the other line, that she was the Ed in the situation; she would be walking with him at some point in the week, when he and Alphonse came back to Risembool for the weekend maybe, and she would notice – she did _not_ enlighten him on how thoroughly _pissed_ this made her, how absolutely _seething_ – the looks he would receive from girls in town, daughters of customers, etcetera, etcetera. She would sit and she would watch them eat him up with their wide eyes, watch them flaunt their (very tiny) breasts, show off their legs in shorts or skirts, fluff their hair and giggle. Giggle, smile, bat your lashes, turn, and do it again. Edward had accused her of lying, and she had sworn she wasn't.

Thus, Edward assumed there were three types of men: the kind who were good-hearted and oblivious, the kind who weren't ignorant and incredibly ostentatious, and the kind who were a mix of the two. And, he supposed, there were three of nearly equivalent types of women, as well; but, he wasn't up for delving into _that_ subject at the moment.

At the moment, he was lying in bed with his arms folded beneath his pillow, his face buried into the softness it, eyes shut tight, breathing deeply, his shoulders rising and lowering heavily with his breath. He could hear his younger brother in the kitchen of their tiny apartment, doing something with dishes to make them clink together, scanning the radio stations at the same time. He had opened the curtains in their shared bedroom and the light was hitting Edward's side of the room in malicious beams of bright white sun. His heart's previous hammering was beginning to weaken and the pinching of his lower stomach was throbbing dully.

He thought frantically, thumbing in his mental file for anything that would work, any plan, plan A, B, fucking Z, whatever he could find – and finally he did stumble on something, and he supposed it might be sufficient.

"Alphonse," he called dimly. He heard something hit the tabletop gently, heard soft footsteps and imagined each one as they fell. The door opened swiftly and his slim, adult-looking brother stood in the doorway. Edward peeked out at him from the folds of his pillow. His eyes narrowed childishly.

"What?" Al said, blinking, seeming a bit bemused by the glare he was now receiving. "Didn't you call me? What?"

"Yes, I called you. I have a headache. The light hurts. Get me a cloth and a big glass of ice, please."

Alphonse regarded him a moment, and then blinked rapidly, bobbing his head up and down obediently. He turned and the sound of fumbling in the kitchen resonated. Edward's lips twitched against the pillow case. He fidgeted, swiveling his hips amongst the feather comforter enveloping his body from the ribs down.

His younger brother returned with the items demanded, setting them down on the Edward's bedside table. His brows furrowed gently and he leaned down, resting his hands on his knees. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," Ed grunted, lifting a hand and shooing his brother away. Alphonse refused for a moment, moving back Edward's hair and touching his forehead and cheeks lightly. Satisfied, he straightened up and crossed his arms, peering down at his idle sibling with the look of a knowledgeable caregiver.

"Did you drink again?"

"_No_," Edward replied, rolling his eyes around before settling them on Alphonse's auburn ones. "I did not, Mother."

"Have you eaten anything…spoiled?"

"I just drank out of the milk carton the other day. It was kind of chunky. Maybe it was curdled. Do you think so? _No_, Al, I _didn't_ eat anything spoiled. I just have a headache. Maybe I'm getting a _cold_," Edward snapped, lip curling in disregard.

Alphonse curled into his famous, sweet-as-sugar smile, nodding curtly. "Yeah. Probably, you idiot." He then turned, waved, and laughed as he closed the door. Edward waited, face hidden, until he was entirely sure that his brother was occupied: the radio stations were flicking again, and at one point they stopped altogether and he heard Alphonse calling to somebody, most likely someone he recognized on the street. Ed smiled faintly. He could see his younger brother opening the window more, leaning out into the August sunshine, waving and laughing and talking with someone on the walk three stories down.

The blonde boy sat up rapidly, a grim, determined look on his face. He threw the bedding off his lower half and swung his legs out of the pocket of warmth, letting his feet rest on the floor and bounce edgily.

Edward snatched up the glass of ice, bit his lip, hooked a thumb in the waist of his boxers, yanked them forward, and promptly dumped the crushed ice cubes down into his lap.

-

Things had to change. Something had to be done, or he supposed that both he _and_ Winry would go completely insane.

Alphonse had gone to work already. His hours were nine o'clock am to one thirty pm at the pet groomers and veterinary stop a few blocks away, then two o'clock to nine o'clock pm at the bookstore at the end of the street; which was fine, as Edward usually stopped by the bookstore on his way to his own job. He waited tables at a restaurant on South Giradle from five pm to midnight.

It was nine thirty in the morning, and he was sitting topless, alone, in an apartment he shared with his brother, pushing food around in his bowl. He'd turned the radio off when he'd gotten up, and Alphonse had been rushing out the door, telling him he'd made more coffee if he'd wanted some.

Hah. If he _wanted_ some.

Edward had already had three cups by the time he made his breakfast, and was working on his fourth as he sat at the table thinking. The leftovers in his bowl were getting cold. He set his fork down, lifted his mug of coffee to his lips, and leaned back in his chair, staring intently at the front door as his thoughts wrestled around within his blonde-haired cranium.

It was steady and it was inexplicable. It was there, and it always had been. Both he and she knew that. He supposed she knew it more than he did, but he did know it. He did.

Winry Rockbell and Edward Elric had…a _thing_. They'd grown up next to each other, had been together – well, separated by a bit of distance, but still living and thinking and breathing – for nearly two decades now. They'd been best friends since they were able to comprehend the notion of _being _best friends with somebody. They'd shared dark secrets and memories that even his brother and he hadn't shared yet. When they were thirteen, they'd both sat and talked seriously for an hour or two out on the back porch of her yellow house; they'd talked about people and mentalities and sexuality. They both knew for sure that there was something more between the two of them, but somehow their growing relationship had dwindled down after the transmutation of Alphonse's body and soul.

Maybe, because afterwards, the two had moved into Central and only visited the Rockbell house on weekends. Maybe because after that, the Elric brothers found they could now move on and grow up and _live_, and now they were nearly full adults and had jobs and a residence and things to occupy their time.

It was Thursday morning, August 12, 1918, in Central City, Amestris. The radio was playing a popular song by the latest big bang in the music industry. _Lily Said_ by _The VerityBops_. Amestris was prospering and was twice as large as it had been years ago. Risembool had also flourished, and now had it's own direct train route, one that went straight to the little city and then came straight back, no stops and no detours. It was a main line now, and Risembool wasn't just a spec on the map anymore. People knew about it. People acknowledged it as a real, progressing Amestris city.

Either way, the Elrics's weekends belonged to a blonde girl living alone in a big house in a maturing city in the middle of nowhere, and _had_ belonged to her for two years straight. Alphonse would normally retire with a book in the living room after dinner, whereas Winry would lead Edward up the stairs into her bedroom, where the two would sit and talk and usually do more.

But for some reason, both had avoided the topic of _what_ they were to do with each other. Yes, it was unspoken and it was predetermined, they both knew as surely as they knew they were alive, that they were supposed to be together. But now that the waiting was over, and they were allowed to be together, what were they supposed to do? Winry was still running a (very successful) automail business and was raking it in as well as she could; not like she had any extra expenses to pay but bills and personal desires. She was well off, and both the Elric boys were as well.

Winry had told him that she loved him, multiple times. He had told her as well, not as many times, but with what times he told her he was sure she knew he was telling the truth. The way that she looked at him made him feel elated, made him feel as if something like heaven truly existed. The way she felt in his arms was perfect, as if she had been molded by some overpowering force to fit precisely against him. They held hands, sure. They kissed, sure. They loved each other, oh, fuck, sure. They wanted to live together, sure.

But there was _something_ there that was keeping them from moving on with their relationship, as desperately much as they wanted to already.

Edward stretched into a wide yawn, arms splaying out slowly, setting his cup down atop the table. Blinking sleepily, his eyes fell upon the ceiling, and he fidgeted around in his chair some, crossing his arms upon his chest and lifting a leg up to rest his foot on the seat of his chair beside his thigh. A breeze fluttered in through the open window and dusted hair back from his cheek, tickling along the curves of his ear.

He froze.

Closing his eyes again, he pressed his lips together in a tight line. The wind smoothed along his cheek now, but his heart was pounding against his ribcage. He gave up on his logical thoughts for the moment, his memory racing back to the previous Sunday night. Winry had done something she'd down rarely before, and he had loved it; she had crawled onto his lap and straddled on him on the couch in the den; she had leaned down and had kissed and nibbled and blown into his ear.

It had driven him _crazy_.

CRAZY.

She had giggled slyly at him, pressing his shoulders down as he twisted beneath her. She had moved to his other ear and whispered hotly, "Your hips are moving an awful lot, Edward…" He had groaned and squirmed around more, telling her to stop being horrible.

For four nights now, Sunday night, Monday night, Tuesday night, and Wednesday night, he had been having dreams that he'd been waking up from with the worst fucking morningwood that any guy could experience out of the pubescent years. In his dreams, Sunday night was finished – each night in different ways.

This last night had been the most intense. In his dreaming mind, he'd shoved her off of him, rolled on top of her, and explored her mouth with his tongue, his fingers moving up and down her body with an experience that he didn't know he had. She was moaning, rocking up and down beneath him; he was working at her neck and groping at her breasts with one hand, groping at her crotch with the other. She was spreading her legs and bucking up on him, he was grinding down on her and feeling the warmth and wetness of her pussy, the shuddering of her body, the moist, heavy panting of her lips pressed to his ear. In his dreams she found his growing erection and was massaging it roughly through his pants as he fingered her clit, and just before they both came

_he woke up_.

With a _huge_ hard-on.

Edward slumped forward again, dropping his foot and resting his elbows on the table, holding his face in his palms. Taking a deep breath, he sighed, wondering what was going to happen tomorrow morning.

And then it hit him.

Sitting up straight, he shoved backwards from the table, rattling the dishes atop it. Shooting up off the chair, Edward hurried towards the telephone, his eyes wide, his heart rattling in his chest as his thoughts rolled over his latest theory.

When the other line picked up, the blonde man turned slightly and looked into the mirror beside the front door, brows rising at his half-naked reflection. "Hey," he said breathlessly into the phone reciever. "I need to take today and tomorrow off. I promise I'll make it up next week."

-

The train lurched as it stopped at the Risembool station. He leaned forward, tapping another passenger's shoulder. "Excuse me," he muttered. "What time is it?"

The man looked at his wristwatch, then turned back to Edward. "Eleven forty-five," he grumbled.

"Thanks," the blonde grunted, hoisting his bag up onto his shoulder. The train jerked again, and the doors opened with a long, sharp whistle. There were less than twenty passengers in the car he had boarded; after all, who wants to be on a train this late on a weekday evening? He got out onto the platform within thirty easy seconds. He swung his arms with a nonchalance that was turning more and more into an eagerness rarely seen in near-adults, but mostly seen in five year olds at a fair. Edward whistled softly as he strode out of the train station, crossed the newly added, freshly cobbled Main Street, and stomped through weeds and tall grasses for a few seconds until he was on the (mostly forgotten now) old dirt road that led off directly through the hills towards the Rockbell House.

It was obviously dark, but the sky was clear, and crickets sang amongst the tall grasses to either side of him. Edward shoved his hands into his pockets and strolled along the rutted dirt, watching the stars above his head. Was it really just three years ago, that he and his brother had been traveling this road for automail repairs? Was it really just a few years ago, that he and Winry began to "experiment" with their emotions?

His heart fluttered. His stomach pinched.

On the table back in Central City, he had left a note for his brother that read, _Hey Al – I'll be back later. If I'm not back by Friday night just go ahead and get on a train for Risem. okay? See ya – Ed _He had gathered up two shirts, two pairs of boxers, and his other two pairs of jeans, shoved them into his bag, tugged on his black-brown aviator jacket, pushed up the collar, ran a hand through his hair, and kicked his shoes on as he trudged down the three flights of stairs to the front lobby of the apartment, locking the door behind him as he went.

His stomach growled. Edward frowned childishly, his strolling falling to a nervous stomping as he made his way up the sloping road towards the outskirts of town. The land around him was bare except for tall grasses and weeds, and faintly he could hear the city below, hidden in the lower hills. Despite nearing midnight there was still activity – and, living in the capitol of Amestris, he knew that wasn't uncommon, even for a premature city like this one.

For a moment, the blonde wondered if Alphonse would be worried. No, he supposed; he would know where he was. He was, after all, his brother. If he knew anybody well, it would be his blood relative and best friend. Right?

Edward threw his head back and laughed loudly up at the sky as he had a sudden, fleeting image pass through his muddled brain. His thoughts were already scrambling and writhing around like an epileptic snake-pit, and that one sharp picture his mind conjured up tickled him to fucking death.

Momentarily, he saw his younger brother shoving some girl at the bookstore up against a wall, ravaging her, feeling her, being altogether what he could _not_ see his brother being – all when he knew his older brother was not there to snap and rip a girl to pieces.

Edward's mirth died down and he heard something bound across the dirt road in front of him – a rabbit, he thought. He spread into a crooked grin and hurried up his pace. With every step he took, his thoughts spoke louder and louder and he became more and more fidgety. Glancing up and down the path, he wondered if he'd forgotten the way to the house; if maybe he had miscalculated how long the road would take from the station. But if he remembered correctly, you'd be able to see the houses on the hill from the platform. Wasn't that true?

The blonde heard the sleepy gurgle of the river and turned his head in the direction of the sounds as he walked. His grin faded into a smile as he recalled the times he and Winry had run down the hills and played around at the river – the times he'd splashed her, or he'd tripped into the water, or the times they'd lain on the banks and talked. Something inside of him quivered and his smile faded altogether. He looked forward again, switching his bag to the other shoulder.

He could see the house now. In the darkness, it was a light grayish color. There was a light on in the window that opened up into the living room; Edward's chest pinched and he frowned deeply. Why was she still up? What was she doing?

He had reached the front door when he heard the elderly dog inside, paws scraping the wooden floor as he padded towards the threshold, whimpering and yapping weakly. He barked once, and then the thud hit Edward's ears, telling him he'd sat down directly in front of the door to wait for the intruder to be revealed. Regardless of the noises of the night blanketing him, the faint city noises, the river's smooth sloshing and flowing, Edward heard someone walking across the front room. The house was too quiet for his liking.

Beyond the door, he heard Winry's voice, muffled by the house's structure. "Hey, Den, who's that?" she cooed, her voice oddly high and bubbly for that of a near-twenty-year-old. Edward's lips twitched as he attempted to keep from smirking. For a few seconds, he felt like the bad boy who snuck up to the girl's window and threw rocks until she helped him sneak in. He had to press his hand to his mouth to hide his grin and prevent his laughter.

The door opened slowly, just a few inches at first. A bright blue eye and half a cherubic face appeared, then half a body, then a whole threshold, and a blonde woman holding the door open, standing there in a sweater and jeans, hair falling to curls near the end of her ribcage, staring with wide sapphire eyes that ate up her whole face. "Ed?" she said, brows rising. Her cheeks flushed and she broke into a smile that was as happy as happiness could ever be put into physical form. Edward's chest tightened up and for a few moments he felt like crying.

Looking at her, smelling her, stepping into the house and wrapping his arm around her, pulling her close to his body and pressing his nose into her neck, feeling her, hearing her, the dog standing up again and nosing against his thigh; Edward realized just how right his theory was, how much they needed it, how much he _loved_ Winry Rockbell.

She patted his back a few times, and then pulled away from him, looking at him with a worried gleam in her eyes, lips puckering into a faint frown. "Edward…what? What are you doing here?"

He shrugged, closing the door behind him. He dropped his bag and offered her a boyish grin, dropping into a crouch and hugging Den's broad, furry neck gently. "Decided to stop by. What are you doing up, anyway, missy? You need some beauty sleep."

"_What_?" Winry squealed, smacking the back of his head and pouting down at him as he laughed. "Shut up! Actually, I've been pulling all-nighters all week and I just woke up today at lunch time, and I haven't been sleeping well anyway."

"Aww, somebody a little restless?" Edward tilted his head, pressing his nose against the elated old dog's head. Winry dropped to her knees in front of him, ruffling the dog's ears like a child's hair. Looking to her knees, her pout faded, and as Edward began to rise to his feet again, she threw herself at him, locking her arms around his neck and pressing her body against his. Her knees hit his and he lowered back against his heels again, blinking.

"Are you…okay?" he questioned, trying to pull her away to look her in the eye. She clung to him tighter, and leaned in towards his ear, murmuring softly, "Ed…I've been waiting for you again…I don't like that…"

"I – " Edward cut off, snapping his mouth shut, wrapping his arms around her body and letting his lashes lower as he simply focused on the way her body felt against his. She sighed into his neck, then pressed her lips to his ear, sighing again against it.

"I had…dreams about you," she whispered, sounding nearly ashamed. Edward swallowed, his stomach pinching up. She sounded like a nervous little girl with her first crush. He stroked his hands up and down her back, pressing his nose to her warm, soft cheek. Den nosed at their shoulders, and a thought struck Edward as clear as his previous Alphonse-and-the-Girl image.

_This is what family feels like. This is what home feels like. This is how I'm supposed to be._

Winry pulled away after a moment, peering at Edward from below her wispy bangs. They'd gotten longer since the last time she'd cut them, and she was constantly jerking her head to clear her view of them. Her eyes bore into his and he looked at her silently, lips parted. He could feel his body heating up, feel his insides twisting around; the look in her eyes was clutching onto him and squeezing desperately, begging him, as if she could read his thoughts.

"I love you," he blurted. Winry recoiled, blinking, brows furrowing. He bit the inside of his lip, wondering if it was the wrong thing to say, then shook his head rapidly, smashing his mouth up to hers. She opened her lips a bit, kissing him back as he leaned on her, kissing her slowly, softly. She clung to him tighter, fingernails scraping against his coat as she scrabbled not to fall backwards off her knees, and at the thought she giggled into his mouth.

Pulling away, Winry whispered against his lips, "I love you, too. Is that all you came to say? Couldn't you use the phone?"

"It's not the same, you know that," Ed mumbled, pushing Den away with his left forearm. Den whined. "I'm sorry," he mumbled quickly, and hugged her tighter against him.

"What? Why?" Winry murmured, giving up and letting his arms keep her from toppling backwards. The black mutt plopped down heavily beside him, resting his snout against their thighs.

"Because. I kept you waiting again. Now come on, I want to show you something."

Winry's face lit up and her eyes locked onto his, burning in the inaudible way that she was so good at; the way that told him just how much she cherished him, because she had no way to otherwise. Obviously, he guessed, she really had been waiting again. She'd been waiting for him to come to the realization that _he_ had to do something. Edward's stomach dropped and his sly smile faded away a bit.

"Shh," she said, reading his thoughts again. She pushed a finger to his lips, then trailed it off down his chest, leaning in against his face and whispering against his chin, keeping her eyes locked on his. He noted that his expression must be utterly defenseless and wondered if every one of his emotions was playing across it at the same time now; Winry kissed him softly, her hand moving down lower and lower. He stood up quickly, staring down at her firmly, blushing. He held out his hand and she giggled at him as she took it.

Den lay curled by the front door, resting his head atop Edward's bag, whining, ears drooping slightly as he watched the two scurry up the stairs.

-

Winry lay gracefully on her bed, body curved, her legs spread a bit and her knees bent gently. Her hair was flowing out about her shoulders and the bedding, one arm sprawled up and curled about her head, the other laying across her stomach. Edward stood at the foot of her bed, staring at her, brows furrowed, looking childishly as if in thought. She smiled, letting her lashes lower a bit more.

Finally, her smile faded, and she spread her legs a bit more, sliding her fingers up her stomach, letting them guide her shirt up past her ribs, but stopping it at the beginning curves of her breasts.

Edward peered down her body towards her lap. He knew she was watching. She spread her legs to taunt him, or maybe to plead him. His heart began to flutter rapidly, and he felt himself starting to get hard. For a moment he wondered if this was still just one of his dirty dreams, but when she spoke and his stomach muscles tensed and he shivered in response, he knew it wasn't.

"Edward," she said, her voice soft and alluring. The lamp was across the room, the light from it dimmed. "I know what you're thinking. I know what you have been thinking. But you know what? I love you. I've always loved you."

"I've always loved you, too," he butted in quickly, pressing his knees onto the edge of the mattress, his eyes still resting on her upper thighs.

"Shh," she breathed, arching her back, legs twitching open more. "Listen to me for a minute, baby…"

His skin crawled with another shiver. He swallowed.

"I've been waiting since we both first talked about it. Remember when we both started talking about love? Remember when we decided we were in love? I've been waiting a long time. I know you have been too. Ed. Edward, please. I've been waiting for you to realize this, too. Please. Stop leaving me."

Edward's heart gave a suicidal leap into his throat. He flicked his eyes up to hers, saw her smile, saw her eyes, and immediately he looked back to her flat, bare stomach. Her black panties were stretched smoothly along her milky skin, and her bare, curling toes brushed along his thighs. He jumped, eyes widening.

"Ed…you're like a little kid," she whimpered.

His pride stung.

"Be quiet," he grunted, crawling on top of her. Her smile twitched up further, her eyes meeting his warmly. He peered down at her, lips parted, brows furrowed. Winry's soft, warm hands slid up his arms and rested on his shoulders, smoothing along them reassuringly. She arched her back more, letting her panties-clad crotch smooth along his boxers. He shuddered. Her smile faded and she shivered in turn.

"Winry," he muttered, pressing his nose to her cheek. "I'm sorry."

"No," she murmured, moving her hands up and down his back, pulling his T-shirt up some with her fingers. "Don't be sorry. Just make up for it."

Edward kissed her neck, up and down her smooth, sweet-smelling skin; she tilted her head, her eyes closing, breathing in through her nose, as he trailed his lips along her slender neck. Her entire body was warm, fitting perfectly on his, as always. He slid his hands down her bare stomach, then back up, fingers edging into the folds of shirt. She sighed in content and he felt his cock stiffen up a bit more.

Her arms wound around his neck securely and her thighs brushed his. He straddled a bit more gently, lowering himself just enough so that he could still glide his fingers around her body. Which he did, thank you.

He slowly dusted his hands down her stomach. She shivered. He slipped his hand into her panties, feeling the faint, scraping pubic hairs she had obviously shaved off. He wanted to ask her, _Do you shave all the time? _but he didn't. He kissed up behind her ear, licking and nipping at her skin. She grunted with a high pitched, womanly grace, sighing at the same time. She rolled her body to the side, her hips going upwards. His finger separated the lips of her pussy, already warm and getting sticky-wet.

She squeaked gently as his finger dragged over her clit. Her fingernails raked lightly down and then back up his back. His muscles twitched, and then quivered. She tugged his shirt over his head and he looked at her, an innocent disappointment written on his face as Winry giggled at him. He took his hands away from her body and she threw his shirt elsewhere, then wrapped her arms around his neck again, pulling him down for a hard kiss.

Moving his lips against hers, he pushed his hand back between her legs. She breathed into his mouth, muttering a soft, "Oh…" as he started to fumble around with the growing lump that was her clit. His fingers began to get wetter, and her hips bucked up against him again. Her legs opened up a bit more.

Edward nosed off into her ear, kissing and breathing on her neck. One of her hands scrambled for his free one, pulling it up into her shirt and pressing it on her breast. He lifted his head, startled, looking at her with a worried look in his eyes. She nodded, eyes half-open, her head tilted back.

He thumbed over her nipple, amazed at how big her breasts had gotten since they were younger. She groaned, rocking upwards against him. He grunted, feeling his erection tighten, feeling his muscles quiver. She shoved him gently, holding his shoulders and rolling over on top of him, pressing her warm body roughly on his. He blinked up at her, his breath beginning to come rapidly. His stomach twisted.

"Do it again," she breathed. He fumbled with her nipple a bit faster; she buried her face deep into his neck, groaning loudly. She jerked her hips downwards, pressing her crotch against the obvious lump in his boxers. Her hands curled on his shoulders like a cat's kneading paws, and she pressed harder against his groin. He hardened more, back arching now in turn to hers, his eyes closing halfway. He drew in a breath, his hand finding her panties again, the other fondling her other nipple.

Winry's body jerked atop his, and she grabbed onto his shoulders tight. Her crotch was moister, hotter; Edward's fingers crawled along towards her clitoris again, and he shuddered, groaning, wondering why it had taken him this long to realize what he had to do. Lying there beneath her, feeling how soft and wet and warm her pussy was, feeling her squirm atop him, his heart pounding, his dick getting harder and harder, dizzy and heaving breaths, feeling her breast and her breath on his neck…he had _always_ loved her. And he _did_ love her. She felt so _good_; she was so fucking _hot_, so _sexy_, so _attractive…_

"Edward, _please_," Winry groaned into his ear, kissing and licking at it hungrily. He rolled his head away and back again, drawing in a whistling breath, body bucking up against hers. She whined gently, brows furrowing. He gasped. "Ed…please…fuck me, okay? Please, please, please, I'm so wet and tight…"

His erection grew. He rolled back over on top of her. The bedding twisted below them.

"Ed, Ed, _Ed_," she squealed as he fingered her clit, pinching it gently, fondling how large and wet it was becoming. He let his tongue and lips trail up her neck as he ground down against her, squeezing her breasts and feeling her twist and buck and pant.

She grabbed his face and narrowed her eyes, chest heaving up on his as she breathed. "Edward," she said sharply. "Fuck me."

Edward grunted, brows furrowing, looking down at her, his lips open still. "You're so…I…don't know," he said quickly. _Beautiful_, he wanted to say. "Sexy. Wonderful…if anyone else ever touches you, I swear to god I'm going to rip them to fucking pieces. I don't wanna be with anyone but you. God, you feel really good, Winry…I'm sorry I made you wait. I lo – "

She cut him off by catching his mouth in hers, kissing him sloppily, hungrily. Her fingers dug gently into his cheeks. He pulled her panties down and pushed over her clit with both thumbs. "_Oh_," she cried, bucking up on him. He grunted again, breathier. She stroked his back, stroked his ass, clutched him tighter to her. Edward spread her legs a bit more, and she jerked her body upwards, letting her bare, wet pussy grind against his lower abdomen and boxer-clad, stiff cock. He pressed his lips to her neck, pulling his hard-on out of the cotton fly of his boxers. She rolled her body upwards as he let his head brush her slit.

Winry tossed her head to the side, panting, gasping, smelling him, feeling him, hearing him, keeping her eyes shut tight. She could feel herself throbbing, feel herself getting tighter and wetter and hotter. He used his fingers and pushed her petal-soft lips apart, felt him guide his cock against her opening. Edward pushed in, and paused; Winry groaned loudly, feeling him stretch her entrance gently, felt him stiffen more, half inside her, at the sound of her ecstasy.

"Go, _please_," she said, sounding nearly hysterical with lust. He rocked his hips downwards, shoving into her hard and fast, her the cold air becoming the tight, wet walls of her pussy. They squeezed on him, sent rapturous tremors up through the muscles of his lower stomach. Her back arched, causing him to go in deeper, and she let out a shrieking moan, pressing her face roughly into his shoulder, her open lips wet on his bare skin. Automatically, he began to thumb over her nipple again, massaging her breast gently.

She was going crazy. She was writhing beneath him, gasping, moaning, sweating, grabbing onto him and pulling him closer on her. He was rolling his body atop hers, coming half out of her and shoving in deeper. He was groaning without realizing it, and wondered if he was seeming just as crazy. Her mouth found his ear and her breath huffed against his sticky skin.

"Edward…Edward," she whimpered. "You're hard…you're big…oh…my…"

He opened his mouth to tell her how hot she was, how tight she was squeezing on him, and all that came out was a breathy, cracking, "Ungh…"

"Oh…I love you, I love you," she squealed, clinging onto him. She pushed up hard on him, his balls brushing against her lower crotch and upper thighs. She squeezed her legs on him, and her walls spasmed gently on his cock.

It ended too fast. But it ended _good_. It ended deliciously good.

He could feel his climax coming, and he knew that she was getting there as well. Edward ducked his head down, his mouth finding her nipple, his tongue and lips flicking against her pink, velvet-soft skin. Her nipple hardened, and his fingers found her other one. She liked it when he messed with her breasts; he could tell. She would jerk under him roughly, her pussy would squeeze tighter than ever, and her moans and cries would get louder and breathier. Her entire body was wet and heated; he was sweating and shivering at the same time.

Abruptly, her walls contracted and rippled hungrily on his cock, and she cried out, her body arching up as sharply as if she were possessed. Edward groaned loudly, coming hard and thoroughly inside of her, her pussy tightening and squeezing so hard on him that it nearly hurt. She squirmed, moaning repeatedly, making a noise each time she exhaled. He rolled onto his back, arching up into her more. She seemed to come again, shuddering and hunching forward on him. He hugged her as close as he could atop him, his heart racing, his head light, his vision blackening from his heavy breathing. He shut his eyes, she buried her face in his neck, and both breathed with painful exhilaration. Both bodies were hot, wet, weak.

Winry lay limp atop him for a moment, before she slowly eased off of him, and rolled away, curling up next to him. Edward realized her panties were still stretched across her thighs. He reached down to pull them up for her, but she stopped him, smiling with a red face and a sheepish, little girl-ish look in her eyes.

"I'll…I'll just change, it's okay," she murmured, running her other hand down his stomach, lower abdomen, and then down his shaft. He shivered, eyes rolling back gently, his back arching again. She immediately pulled away as if she had hurt him, staring, and then she giggled and buried into his chest.

"Oh…my fucking christ," he grumbled after a minute, pressing his face into her hair. He inhaled deeper, closing his eyes again, wrapping his arms around her body and holding her against him. She tucked him gently back into his boxers.

"Good, hunh?" She giggled again.

"Fucking awesome!" he said loudly, voice squeaking. Winry rubbed her nose up and down his bare chest, hugging him in turn.

"I love you," she murmured.

"Yeah. Love you, too. Wanna do it again?"

"Keep dreaming, dirty boy," Winry said, grinning, tracing her finger along his lower lip. He kissed her finger, rolling to the side, curling up against her in turn.

After a moment, he nosed against her forehead. "I'm not leaving," he whispered. She flinched down against him, her face hidden.

"There's…always room here for you, Edward," she mumbled, looking up at him with loving eyes. She tried to smile and failed, and he kissed her forehead again.

"I know. It's home, hunh?"

"Yeah. Home."

"Sorry again, that I made you wait."

"'Good things come to those who wait'. Right?"

"No more waiting, though. I promise."

She pinched his side, grinning up at him as he grunted in sulking response. He glanced down her body and realized that, when lying down, he was actually a little taller. He ran his knee along her legs, loving how long and smooth they were.

"Welcome home," she breathed.

"Yeah," he said, and rested a hand on the curve of her waist and hip.

"Excuse me, don't get settled down _yet_!" Winry laughed, rolling away from him again, holding his hand and stroking her thumb along his knuckles, smiling at him. "I still have to change, lover boy."

Edward snorted. "Whatever. You should be a porno star. You're really sexy."

"_Keep dreaming_!" she squealed, and hopped off the bed, hurrying to the dressed as her shirt fell down to her waist and she wriggled out of her soiled panties.

He rolled onto his side and watched her, watched every part of her as she changed. Yeah, he was sorry he'd made her wait so long. Yeah, he was sorry he'd never showed her how much he really loved her until now. Yeah, he wanted to move out of Central City and come back home for good.

She turned halfway and eyed him, smiling. He grinned in return, eyes falling half-shut. Nobody could ever tell them again that they were just stupid little kids, that they didn't know what such adult feelings were. He was sure of it now, and the fact that they'd waited for their entire lives and shared the mutual ache for such a long time proved it. Tomorrow he'd go back to Central and quit his job, pack up his stuff, inform Alphonse of his intentions, and then buy a one-way ticket to Risembool.

At least now, there would be no more waiting.

**OWARI.**

**A/N:D Smut. And fluff. Ooh. **


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